


FALLING FURTHER IN

by kazvl



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Wands, chapter 33 references to depression and attempted suicide, references to death of minor characters, references to off-screen rape and non-con, references to off-screen violence, use of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 243,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazvl/pseuds/kazvl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione learns more about the man behind the dark sarcasms of the classroom.</p><p>Eventual Hermione/Snape.</p><p>Canon compliant only for first three books.</p><p>Some of what are now considered to be fanon cliches weren't when I first wrote them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't face putting in all the coding for italics etc, so I haven't.

ONE

 

Meal times during the summer holidays were an elastic affair for the staff and their table was almost empty by the time Dumbledore came into the Great Hall for breakfast. He smiled as he passed Professors Sprout and Flitwick on their way out of the room; deep in animated conversation, Sprout's gurgling laugh was punctuated by squeaks of pleasure from Flitwick. The only person left at the High Table was Snape, who was staring blankly at the bowl of steaming porridge in front of him. His skin tone was an almost perfect match to the grey-beige hue of the oatmeal and he looked as if sleep had become a luxury he hadn't enjoyed for some time. It was a look common to many this year.

"Good morning," said Dumbledore, taking the chair to Snape's right. While his voice had been gentle of intent, Snape still flinched, then scowled to cover his moment of weakness.

"H-headmaster." The cream jug shaking as he picked it up, he set it down again unused, all his usual grace of movement lost. A muscle high in his jaw was jumping.

Dumbledore served him with cream, topped with a generous serving of fragrant, dark brown sugar. "Eat. You look even worse than last night."

"Always such a way with words." Shifting on his chair, Snape grimaced and fell silent.

"We need to rethink our strategy. This can't go on, Severus."

"Spare us both any inane insincerities. We both know it has to go on while there's a chance we can continue to feed Voldemort misinformation - no matter how trivial it might be."

"You're missing the point. I'm concerned about what will become of you."

"Me, too. It's all taken care of," added Snape, exhaustion slurring his voice and dragging at the muscles of his face. "Since I rejoined the Dark Lord I've been working intensively on honing - developing, would be more accurate - Lupin's skills as a potions-maker, and teacher. As he was a virtual tabula rasa, despite seven years of Potions classes, my task was made easier. Since having a decent teacher he's displayed a certain talent for potion-making. When Voldemort kills me Remus will make a competent Potions master, although he will never attain my level of skill as a potions-maker." The statement sounded arrogant but was no more than the truth. "I've given him access to my suppliers, formulae and notes for the works in progress, although those are beyond him at present."

Chilled by this thorough preparation for death, Dumbledore gained unwanted insight into what Snape's last two years must have been like.

"It hasn't occurred to you that some of us might miss you for more than your undoubted skills as a Potions master?"

Snape's head turned fast as a striking snake but he made no response beyond a snort of sardonic amusement. "Given that I have excellent hearing and sight, no, it hasn't." He drew his shaking hands onto his lap, yet to accustom himself to the betrayal of a body he had always taken for granted.

"Then I've failed you even more than I knew," murmured Dumbledore.

"Don't be ridiculous," dismissed Snape irritably, unable to meet the sadness in those vivid eyes. "I'm the one prone to self-pity if I remember my last assessment correctly."

Discarding all the things he would rather have said, Dumbledore picked up his knife and fork. "I had no idea I was being so maudlin," he said in his mildest voice.

"Which is why I dropped you a hint," murmured Snape, bland as milk. He absently took a mouthful of the still hot porridge.

Dumbledore gave a faint smile and patted him on the arm but he continued to study the other man as Snape applied himself to eating his first meal in twenty four hours.

Severus' reports had always been meticulous in every detail, except with regard to the punishments he routinely suffered as Voldemort toyed with his renegade Death Eater. Dumbledore was aware that the only reason he knew of them now was because after two years of enduring regular bursts of Cruciatus, Severus' fortitude had been tested to its limits. Each time he returned from Voldemort it took him longer to make a physical recovery - long beyond the point where he could continue to hide it. As yet his will was unbroken but one day it would shatter like glass put under too much stress. And when that happened...

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes darkening. It was up to him to see that it didn't.

As he noted the deep lines embedded between Snape's eyebrows and engraved from nose to mouth, Dumbledore wondered if Severus had ever known what it was to be happy. Perhaps occasionally, as a teenager, with one of his girlfriends, before bitterness and a sense of alienation had made him join Voldemort. Voldemort had known what lures to cast to snare an emotionally vulnerable eighteen-year-old boy. Severus would never have been tempted by the opportunities for rape and torture, or for the acquisition of wealth. It was the vanity of youth and the arrogance which came from being so much more intelligent than most of those around him - combined with a hunger for knowledge - that had been Severus' downfall. Only he would be arrogant enough to have believed he could topple Voldemort - who he had described as rather stupid, if a powerfully compelling wizard - and return to the Light for the glittering prizes that would await him. As for what else Severus might truly have wanted, it was difficult to say. He had been a complex and difficult boy - the man was little changed, except that he was even more bitter and less inclined to hope. He had always actively thwarted those who tried to interact with him - as if he required them to prove themselves over and over again. Unsurprisingly, few people passed his tests. Capable of great cruelty, particularly to those less able than himself, he had a strong sense of duty and a rigid code of honour. He also had a fiercely protective streak for those in his care, even if young Longbottom would find that difficult to believe, mused Dumbledore with a faint smile. If Severus was hard on others, he was harder still on himself. Perhaps one day he might be able to find contentment but it was hard to believe. He was not a comfortable companion.

So many wounded children... Sirius, trying to patch together the life the Dementors had tried to suck from him for over twelve years; memories blighted, happiness drained away. And after twelve years those feelings were hard to recapture; small wonder his eyes were still so haunted. Then there was Remus, whose life was lived at the rhythm dictated by the moon. Lily, James and Cedric murdered. Muggle families persecuted, as were some of the oldest wizard dynasties. Every day brought new horrors. In the last two years eighteen of their current pupils had found themselves orphaned, courtesy of Voldemort. Eighteen of the brightest and best weakened by their devastating losses.

Now, as they approached Harry's final year at Hogwarts, the only question was how and when Voldemort would strike next.

"Have you prepared that potion we discussed yet?" Dumbledore asked, dunking a piece of fried bread into an egg yolk.

"No, Headmaster. I'm not making it," said Snape flatly.

"We need something which will redeem you in Voldemort's eyes."

"Potter's head on a plate should do the trick - with or without an apple in his mouth."

"Perhaps you could concoct something with which to dispose of me," Dumbledore mused.

"The obvious disadvantage being that I would have to produce the relevant potion. Given how long it took me to convince him that you've inflicted a charm which tells you every time I brew any potion not on the curriculum, do you really think that would be wise? Besides, I'm not going to poison you in the dubious hope of convincing the Dark Lord of my renewed loyalty. Apart from the odd scraps of information we feed him, he keeps me alive only because it amuses him to do so. I can set Lucius Malfoy gibbering with rage in a couple of sentences. Who would think it, Severus Snape, court jester." While his mouth twisted into a smile, the bleakness in his eyes was shocking.

"How long have I known you, Severus? Let me see, I returned to Hogwarts to take over the position of Headmaster when you were what, fourteen, fifteen?"

"Fourteen," said Snape. He looked wary, as if trying to brace himself against attack.

"Twenty four years... During those years it's been apparent to me that you excel in everything to which you put your mind."

Having finished his porridge without seeming to be aware of what he was doing, Snape ignored the fried breakfast which had appeared in front of him to give Dumbledore a look in which comprehension and suspicion were mixed in equal measure.

"Whatever it is you want, the answer is no," he said, but some warmth had returned to his voice.

One of his saving graces had always been an unpredictable and sometimes inconvenient sense of humour - yet another reason why Voldemort had not been able to hold him. Strange that evil and a lack of a sense of humour should so often go in tandem, mused Dumbledore, before he concentrated on the issue at hand.

"I'm worried about Miss Granger's state of mind," he said.

"Speak to Minerva."

"She has tried everything."

A fork full of bacon poised, Snape raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not 'everything' or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Minerva is an excellent woman and the perfect head of house for Gryffindor. But she excels at a more - er - straightforward approach."

"Thank you," said Snape, reading between the lines without difficulty.

"Also," continued Dumbledore, ignoring the interruption, "as she would be the first to admit, she has a better rapport with the boys in her house - just as you do with the girls in Slytherin. Miss Granger's intellect can make her seem a daunting - "

"Intellect isn't the issue here. It's her emotions that are causing the problem." Snape crunched a crisp bacon rind with a relish he hadn't displayed for some time.

Dumbledore took some care in loading a piece of mushroom with some fried tomato. "I've often thought the two of you have a lot in common in some respects."

"Minerva and me?" Incredulity coloured Snape's voice.

"I was talking about Miss Granger and yourself. As you well know," said Dumbledore placidly.

"Oh, I know exactly what you want of me and the answer is no. I have my own house and - "

" - an excellent job you make of it."

As usual, any compliment from Dumbledore left Snape floundering. He made a typical comeback. "Compared to the appalling sentimentality of the other heads of house anyone would look efficient. If you're hoping I'll start knitting my Slytherins bedsocks, you'll be disappointed."

"I could teach you," offered Dumbledore, before his smile faded. "You were Hogwarts' youngest ever head of house by over two decades. You still are the youngest," he added, after some complicated counting process which made sense only to him.

"Something which might appear a compliment but for the fact that I was the only Slytherin on staff at the time," dismissed Snape, a brittle note in his voice.

"Merlin's bones! There are times I think you weren't slapped enough as a child," snapped Dumbledore with asperity.

Snape blinked and watched him warily. "Headmaster?"

Dumbledore made a concerted effort to control his anger, knowing that much of it was misdirected. "Sometimes your wilful arrogance still astounds me. Do you seriously imagine you were my only choice as Potions master? My name is enough to ensure I have the pick of the wizarding community. Even in these dangerous times I could fill posts at Hogwarts twenty times over. There are a number of Slytherin professors, learned wizards and witches in their fields, but few of them make good teachers, let alone... You were appointed head of Slytherin because you could provide your house with the leadership it requires in these troubled times. Given that you do so while balancing the necessity of exaggerating your less endearing traits..."

A sardonic snort escaped Snape.

"You're doing a fine job, Severus," continued Dumbledore, as if there had been no interruption.

"Except..." drawled Snape, an unpleasant, knowing sparkle in his black eyes.

"What?"

"There was a qualification hovering behind the praise."

"Well, yes, there was,"snapped Dumbledore, irritated as so often by the doors Snape slammed shut. "You've been doing some excellent work but when are you going to get over your ridiculous prejudice against Black, Lupin - and the Potters, father and son?"

Snape's heavy chair scraped back over the stone flags as he got to his feet. "At your request I've shaken hands with B-Black. Every month I make one of the most complex potions in existence for Lupin. Meanwhile I'm helping to keep Potter and his undistinguished friends alive. What else do you require of me, h-headmaster?" Aware of the ignominious shake in his voice, his emotional controls in tatters in the aftermath of three bursts of Cruciatus in one night, he turned away but was forced to grasp the chair back for support as various muscles cramped at the same time. After several minutes he was able to straighten again, sweat clammy on his skin.

Having learnt that offers of help would be rejected out of hand, Dumbledore forced himself to stay seated. Staring up at Snape's painfully straight back and shaking right arm, he grimaced. "Please stay, Severus. I expressed myself poorly. I know there were - and are - faults on both sides. Something I failed to take into account all those years ago."

While it was obvious he would have preferred to be anywhere else, Snape gave a jerky nod and returned to his seat, although he pushed away his unfinished meal.

His own appetite gone, Dumbledore poured himself some rosehip tea and added a drizzle of the honey supplied by the castle's bees.

Snape fidgeted with the delicate glass stopper to the honey jar, before slowly licking sweetness from the tips of his fingers. "The apple blossom was good this year," he noted.

"Hagrid swears by dried Hippogriff manure."

"Ah, that would have been the smell last spring. We thought it must be the drains again. Miss Granger's parents were murdered only three months ago. Given the - um - spectacular nature of their demise it's only to be expected that she's less forthcoming than usual. Not that she ever has been, except in the classroom," Snape added slowly. "She has no other friends."

"I knew I could rely on you to see the problem. Harry and Ron are admirable boys - "

Snape gave a derisive snort.

" - but not people to whom she's likely to open her heart. Every day Hermione's defences grow stronger. You'll have noticed the change in her for yourself, you don't miss much that goes on around you. We've all tried to get through to her but she's locked her emotions behind walls so high and so thick... It's time to be cruel to be kind."

"Ah. Your confidence in me is explained." On this occasion Snape sounded more amused than bitter.

"She needs help, Severus. And Harry needs all the support he can get."

"I thought it wouldn't be long before we got back to the wonder that is Potter." Snape refilled his cup with the black tea he favoured and which he preferred once it had been left to stew until it was half-cold and strong enough to make even hardened tea drinkers wince.

Dumbledore employed his most effective weapon against Snape. "Please, Severus."

Snape's narrow-eyed glare was its own answer.

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder. "I knew I could rely on you."

Muttering something under his breath, Snape took a fortifying sip of tea. "You can stop twinkling at me in that nauseating way. I've said I'll do it. But I'll do it in my own way. And without any interference from Black." He turned the name into an obscenity.

"Here, have some more toast," he added, irritable because he could see he had disappointed Dumbledore - again.

***

 

Listening to the sound of laughter coming from the grounds outside the open window, Hermione stepped back in case anyone should look up and start plaguing her to go outside. Though to be fair, no one would order her to do so - that was the best thing about being at Hogwarts during the summer holidays, none of the professors, not even Snape, made her do anything. While students weren't usually allowed to spend the summer break at school, to her relief Professor Dumbledore had given her special permission; she was on her honour not to abuse the trust placed in her.

"A promise I feel sure Miss Granger will have a better chance of keeping without Potter and Weasley around to lead her astray," Snape had said, an unpleasant twist to his mouth. "Make sure you don't make a nuisance of yourself," he had added to her. "It won't, of course, have occurred to you that your insistence on remaining here has put all of us to considerable inconvenience. Just because you refuse to face up to the fact that your - "

"Severus, a word. Now!" Professor McGonagall had snapped, virtually yanking him to one side.

Relieved to have escaped, Hermione hadn't understood what had happened next. After a while Professor McGonagall had stopped shouting at Snape in a whisper. Dreading what retort Snape might make Hermione had been amazed to see him murmur something which looked like a reassurance before smiling. True it had only been faint but she had never seen him smile with anything approaching warmth before. It made quite a difference to his face. Too weird to think of Snape reassuring Professor McGonagall - or wanting to. Though it made a change from him winding her up about Gryffindor's chances in Quidditch - as if he cared about anything except making her lose her temper. But the change in him was as great as if night had become day and she hated the unpredictability of it. Especially now that...

Must get on instead of day-dreaming, she reminded herself, feverishly rootling through the summer work she had already finished, despite the fact the holidays were less than a week old.

Mrs Weasley had been very sweet when she'd told her to make her home at the Burrow but there was no need for that. Besides, it was better to keep busy. There was so much to learn and she still hadn't decided what her speciality should be. At least she had plenty of opportunities to use the library without interruption from anyone - not least from one of Madam Pince's disapproving sniffs. The worst she could expect was to meet Snape on his way to the Restricted Section and undergo one of his infamous interrogations. In a funny kind of way they were oddly comforting - as if nothing had changed. Besides, a couple of times he'd been helpful about recommending books for her to read, then displayed an unexpected willingness to discuss them afterwards.

It hadn't really occurred to her before but when he forgot to be a bastard he was interesting to talk to - and a good, if demanding, teacher. She'd soon learnt to marshal her arguments during those one-to-one sessions. Sloppy research wasn't an option and wooly-minded thinking did nothing but earn her one of those caustic comments which most people took hours to think up but which came naturally to him. He had a way of picking through your brain, turning it inside out and then sitting back and waiting for you to work through the problem for yourself. It was an effective teaching method - one she would never have expected of him. She had been so caught up in the argument they'd had yesterday that she'd heard herself flat-out contradicting him, offering in support an article she had just read in Herbology Today. It had taken her a while to recognise the expression in his eyes as pleasure. Not an emotion you expected when you had just told the classroom bully he was wrong. It had taken her twenty four hours to realise he'd read the article and had just been testing her. She thought she must have passed but you could never be sure with a tricky bastard like Snape. Trust was hardly his middle name.

But it was a relief to be on better terms with him after a disastrous six years of being ignored or slighted. She could still see his scornful expression when he'd eyed those enormous teeth Malfoy had given her in his duel with Harry, could still hear the sneer in his voice as he'd said he saw no difference in her appearance. She'd cried in the Ladies for half an hour before Moaning Myrtle had reminded her to go to the hospital wing. Malfoy had done her a favour really. Her new front teeth were wonderful, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, although when mum and dad had seen them they'd -

Taking out the essay she had completed for Snape earlier in the week, she debated rewriting the introduction, sighed and set the parchment to one side, frustrated by the knowledge that her best was rarely good enough for the most exacting of professors. Still, while Snape's teaching style left a lot to be desired, he was never dull and no one, not even Neville, who really was hopeless when it came to Potions, had ever failed their Potions exams. Of course, being a Slytherin, Snape might cheat on the marking - it was difficult to believe Crabbe and Goyle had mastered joined up writing, let alone increasingly complex potion-making.

Feeling stiff and awkward, Hermione got up to look out the window overlooking the sunny lawn; a number of the daisies winked up at her before one squeaked and dodged the croquet ball heading towards it. Smiling, Hermione watched as Professors Sprout, McGonagall and Flitwick played wizards' croquet, while a sleepy Professor Lupin, with Sirius Black at his side, lounged on the grass a safe distance away, Lupin applauding shots. Instead of their usual crow-black robes all the professors wore only summer attire. Professor McGonagall looked hot in her red tartan robe, her hair in a wonderfully intricate style, while Professor Sprout looked like an animated puff-ball in her tulle and lace dress. It was odd, without those robes the personalities of the various staff seemed to become more apparent - or maybe it was just because they weren't on duty and so were more relaxed.

She'd been dreading the holidays, the first since... But it had been easier than she had expected so long as she avoided Professors Sprout and Flitwick - even McGonagall. They, like everyone else, had been so kind she'd thought they'd drive her mad with their incessant understanding when there was nothing to understand. Voldemort had tortured and killed her parents for no better reason than that he could; she had been so busy worrying about Harry she had never given her parents' safety a thought. Still, at least she and he had something in common now.

At first she had thought everyone's sympathy would smother her; she knew she was under constant surveillance while they waited for her to fall apart. Well, she had proved them all wrong, throwing herself back into schoolwork until all she could see at night were Arithmancy charts, all she could hear were the voices of her professors in the classroom and where she didn't dream at all, except about writing essay after essay where the ink vanished as fast as she completed a line.

Fighting her sense of panic, Hermione raised her chin and swept down the library.

***

 

Three days later, with every holiday task completed and up-to-date with her reading,

Hermione ignored her headache and went back to the library. The stacks held tens of thousands of books - together with parchments and periodicals. And she couldn't think what to read. Couldn't think, couldn't think.

In desperation she went to find the one professor who could be relied upon to give her work without needing to know why she wanted it, or anything else about her.

Having no success in locating Snape in his classroom or office, and with no idea where his quarters might be, she headed for the staff room, took a deep breath and knocked on the door. There was a short delay before it swung open to reveal a tall figure, still dressed in black with only a flash of white at throat and wrist to relieve the severity of the high-necked jacket he wore, in place of his usual robes; she had found Snape.

"Miss Granger." He eyed her with no detectable enthusiasm.

"I wondered if I might speak with you."

"I've yet to find a way of stopping you," he replied, looking bored.

A muscle in her jaw began to jump.

"You'd better come in," Snape added.

She stepped forward only to find herself bumping into him when he didn't give ground as she had expected. For a moment she felt his hand brushing her side and the hard warmth of his body against her own.

"S-sorry," she stammered, intimidated despite herself. She automatically took a step back "It can wait. I wouldn't want to bother anyone else."

"I'm expected to feel honoured at being singled out?"

This was Snape at his worst. Feeling herself flush, Hermione forced herself not to look away.

"I - " But the words refused to come.

"Oh, come in, girl," he said irritably, stepping aside. "Do you see anyone else here? Now, what's so important that you feel you should interrupt my free time?"

"I know it's your holiday but I hoped... That is to say... "

"If you have a point, make it and go away. Just because you no longer have a family on whom to inflict yourself - "

It took a second or so for the cruelty of what he had said to sink in. Colour draining from her face, she stared up at him.

"You don't know anything about it." If he said anything about mum and dad she would kill him.

"Your parents were Muggles," he said with disdain. "That's all I need to know. I don't understand what all the fuss is about. It wasn't as if you saw much of them in recent years. Magic and Muggles rarely mix well. You would have drifted further and further apart until the time you spent with them became some dreary duty you couldn't avoid. One might almost say that whoever disposed of them did you a favour."

"Oh, Severus," breathed Dumbledore from where he, Lupin and Black stood concealed behind a Screening Charm. His fingers tightened around the muzzle of the dog, who was growling deep in his throat, making his body vibrate.

"The bastard," said Lupin in his hoarse voice. "What does he think he's doing?"

"What none of us were willing to," said Dumbledore sadly, taking hold of Lupin's arm.

His eyes narrowed with pain, he watched as, his face pitiless, Snape mercilessly sliced through every decency, in the process destroying all the devices Hermione had used to avoid dealing with the death of her parents. Within a couple of minutes she was close to hyperventilating, animal sounds of pain escaping her even though she tried to stifle them with her fists. Her grief had been denied for too long; she had never been in the habit of displays of public emotion, easy or otherwise.

"...dead, Miss Granger. Dead and quite rotted away by now. You won't be rushing into your mother's arms for comfort any time soon. Not that she had any arms by the time she died."

The sound which escaped Hermione made even Snape, who had been hoping for it, flinch. Then she went for him.

Grateful that he had managed to remove her wand from her sleeve before she entered the staff room, he weathered the storm as best he could. He acquired a number of minor injuries before finally she collapsed against him, dry sobs racking her body. Feeling inadequate in the face of all this raw, needy emotion, he cast a helpless look to where he knew Dumbledore, Lupin and Black stood but when no help was forthcoming he was forced to offer what clumsy comfort was in his power. She was still hitting him occasionally; self-defence made him wrap her in her arms and hold her close before it could occur to her to geld him. While slight, she was fighting him all the way and eventually he settled them both on the floor in an indecorous knot of legs and let her wear herself out against him, while trying not to notice that the bane of his Potions class had developed breasts.

As the appalling noise tailed away, Hermione's face came into view through the wild abandon of her hair, which had escaped confinement. As he glimpsed her lost, grief-ravaged face there was a moment when Snape's own expression was nakedly revealing.

"Oh, child." Drawing her back into his arms, he settled her face against his shoulder. Rocking her as she quietly began to cry cleansing tears, he murmured comforting nonsense over and over in the flexible voice which was his trade mark and which he had learnt over the years to use to great effect.

"At last," breathed Dumbledore, his relief obvious. "Oh, well done, Severus. Remus, would you fetch Madam Pomfrey. I fear Miss Granger will need a day or so in the hospital wing to recover from this."

As Lupin left the room, Black transfigured beside Dumbledore.

"If this hasn't been enough I'm sure Snape will be delighted to do it all again," he snarled. "That bastard has gone too far this time and I'm going to put a stop to it."

"Let them be," commanded Dumbledore, in the tone no one ever argued with. "Do you think this was easy for Severus?"

"Of course it was," said Black, turning his back on the pair on the floor to scowl out the window.

Dumbledore eyed him thoughtfully. One day he would find out the root cause of the enmity between Black and Snape, which he suspected had begun long before the events in the Whomping Willow. Sirius could so easily have become another Severus, but for his good fortune in having friends like James and Lily.

Severus had always been an outsider. Tall for his age and skinny, it had taken him some years to grow into his face. His manner had never done anything to endear him to his peers. He lived on his emotions, nervily reacting to every stimulus and given to brooding over slights, real and imagined. Sulky, stubborn, prone to holding grudges, and disdainful of the normal social graces he possessed a tongue that could wound like a knife. He had rarely applied his fierce intelligence to anything constructive and had reduced a couple of his professors to nervous wrecks - although in fairness perhaps the calibre of staff hadn't been all it should have been in those days. But then Hogwarts had never been intended as a centre of academic excellence. Indeed, if Severus was to believed, it was rare for the school to approach anything resembling that, even now.

The fifth year had wrought its usual changes in the boys, who were always later to bloom than the girls. James had never been more than pleasant looking but Sirius had possessed stunning good looks, even as a small boy. That fifth year some of his admirers had changed allegiance, more following in the sixth and seventh years. It wasn't that Severus had ever approached anything resembling handsome, just that he had returned to Hogwarts in the fifth year still scrawny, arrogant and unpleasant, but with a sex-appeal strong enough to fluster some of the staff old enough to know better. Not to mention the affect on some of his classmates. Hormones rampaging, it was small wonder the antagonism between Sirius and Severus had only deepened. Black had been late to accept his own sexuality and if he had been drawn to Severus... It would explain a lot, although Dumbledore knew he was unlikely to find out the truth.

It had been a pleasure to watch Severus blossom under the attention from some of the girls - and not just those in his own year. He was one of those rare boys who enjoyed the company of woman for more than sex. When Severus had thought himself unobserved he had been a different person with his girlfriends, displaying a capacity for tenderness rare in a sixteen-year-old wizard. It was good to see the years hadn't entirely eradicated that emotion.

"What was that you said, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked vaguely. The Marauders had caused him plenty of trouble but he had always known how to deal with their more straightforward needs; all too often the workings of a Slytherin mind were a mystery to him.

"I said the only thing Snape needs is my boot up his backside," growled Black. He fidgeted under the steady look he received. "What?" he mumbled, reduced to a delinquent thirteen year old by the expression in those bright blue eyes.

"Do you honestly think Severus enjoyed doing that?"

"It's right up his street."

"I said 'honestly', Sirius," said Dumbledore sharply.

Black looked down. "Maybe not," he muttered. The sounds Hermione had been making were uncomfortably reminiscent of the noises heard from new arrivals at Azkaban.

Sighing, Dumbledore's shoulders slumped. "I understand," he said, as if Black had spoken aloud. "What you need to remember is, so does Severus. Although don't ever expect him to admit as much," he added wryly.

They both turned with relief as Madam Pomfrey entered the staff room.

"Oh, at last," she breathed as she took in the sight of Hermione, slumped in Snape's enfolding embrace. Hermione juddered and shook in the aftermath of grief, one hand clawed in Snape's hair, the other in his frock coat, one of the pockets of which had been ripped open. "We'll take her straight up to bed. She'll sleep after this. I'll just - " She produced her wand.

"No need for a stretcher, I have her," Snape murmured, continuing to rub Hermione's narrow back. The livid scratches down his cheek were still bleeding, his bottom lip had been split open and there was a bite mark on his left hand, although it hadn't drawn blood.

"Good," said Madam Pomfrey, standing by, should she be needed.

Easing to his feet, Hermione still in his arms, Snape walked over to the fireplace, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to take out a pinch of Floo powder.

Black exhaled noisily after they had vanished from sight. "I need a drink," he said with feeling.

"Hot chocolate all round, I think," said Dumbledore.

"I was thinking of alcohol."

"Were you? Never mind. Have that instead."

"Just because you were right in this instance doesn't mean Snape's changed," said Black, clinging to his prejudice.

"You've both changed," said Dumbledore, with a trace of exasperation. "Merlin's beard, you're men full grown, not scrubby schoolboys. It would be such a relief if one of you could remember it now and then!"

"No good expecting maturity from Snape," said Black, managing to sneer every time he said the name.

"Or anyone else, it would seem," said Dumbledore tartly.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

 

Hermione woke in slow stages, barely stirring under the covers as she identified her surroundings. She was back in the hospital wing - the same bed she had occupied during the weeks she had lived here after the Polyjuice Potion fiasco, when she had ended up with the face of a cat.

She felt muzzy-headed, sucked dry of moisture and as if she had been beaten with clubs. Par the course for anyone unlucky enough to spend time with Snape.

Snape...

Her eyes bright in the darkness, Hermione absorbed the brutal efficiency with which he had broken her, before silent tears slid down her face as the enormity of her loss came crashing back. She wept for what had been done to her parents, for the fact she hadn't been there to save them, and because of an all-encompassing sense of guilt. The only reason they had died was because she was friends with Harry. She supposed drearily that to He-Who-Must - Voldemort's way of thinking that would mean she would blame Harry.

But most of all, and to her deepest shame, she wept for herself and her loss. But just when the loneliness seemed too much to bear there was someone beside her in the darkness.

"There, child," said Professor Sprout's honeyed voice, just before she was taken in an embrace that would have been comforting but for the fact it was a too poignant reminder of the mother she had lost.

The next time Hermione awoke the room was awash with sunshine and Professor McGonagall sat at her bedside. Briskly kind, her astringent manner was just what Hermione needed at this stage, and oddly comforting. Having bathed, changed her nightgown and eaten, Hermione slid gratefully back to sleep.

That evening Professor Dumbledore was at her bedside, followed over the next thirty six hours by Madam Pomfrey, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall again the following morning. While they were kindness itself, each time it was a relief to retreat back into deep, dreamless sleep.

Waking to a velvety darkness thick enough to slice, Hermione sat up and drank thirstily from the glass of chilled pumpkin juice at her bedside, grateful that there was no one sitting vigil tonight for whom she must make an effort. Relaxing, she gave a long stretch, surprised by how well she felt. She was distracted as brilliance flooded the room when the quarter moon slid into view, perfectly framed by the open casement windows. It hung in the sky, seemingly close enough to touch but making her feel as if she was the only person alive.

And so she was, in the Granger family.

She steadied her chin, drank another glass of pumpkin juice, which just refilled when needed, and munched on the banana and brown sugar sandwiches which appeared. Though how the house elves knew they were her favourite comfort food...?

It was odd, the moon at Hogwarts looked twice as big as it had back in the Muggle world - back home. Except it hadn't been her home any more. Not really, deep down inside, where it counted. Getting that letter from Dumbledore had been like coming home, the holidays just something she enjoyed only because she'd been with her parents. And even then...

Snape, the bastard, had been right. She had been drifting away from them. Each holiday had become a little more strained as they struggled to mesh the concerns of their different worlds; in time they would have had nothing in common, except love - which even Voldemort couldn't destroy. If he could Harry would be dead and... She paused to consider what life under Voldemort might be like. Both terrifying and dull because you'd be too busy trying to stay alive to be able to study and...

Harry and Ron were right. She really did need to get out more. Only not just yet. There were too many things to organise to ensure she could remain at Hogwarts without the Muggle authorities starting a search for her in their world: there would be lawyers, bankers, the house to sell, belongings to sort through... She had no other living relatives and so for the next couple of months would need a legal guardian, preferably one she could display to the Muggle authorities and who would pass in the Muggle world if necessary. It would only be until September, when she would be eighteen.

That old fool Fudge had mumbled something when he had told her about her parents' murder - though after what Dumbledore had said to him when he discovered Fudge had taken matters into his own hands it wasn't likely she would have to put up with him again. Besides, she wouldn't trust Fudge to see her across the road, never mind be her guardian. Particularly as he had never given any sign of knowing she existed before. Except now she was that notorious witch - friend of Harry Potter and therefore marked for death. Or worse.

Panic flickered in the back of her mind but she resolutely conquered it. She could waste her remaining time at Hogwarts hiding in corners or she could learn all she could from who ever she could before they defeated He- Voldemort.

Voldemort.

There. She had thought it.

Voldemort.

Voldemort.

The headmaster was right. The name did lose power the more you used it.

She would speak to Professor Dumbledore about sorting out her Muggle existence. She couldn't expect the staff at Hogwarts to continue to take responsibility for her.

Refocusing on her surroundings, it was only when Hermione looked into the room rather than out of it that she discovered she wasn't alone, as she had assumed. Snape sat astride a straight-backed chair positioned in the shadows beyond the foot of her bed. Careful not to advertise her wakeful state, Hermione realised he was asleep and therefore off-guard. She had never seen Snape so relaxed. He wasn't a comfortable person to be around; he seemed to live on his nerves, and in the process he ensured that everyone else had to do the same. She took her time to study this familiar stranger.

He looked as if he was hugging for comfort the straight-backed chair he was straddling. His long legs were curved, so that the soles of his booted feet met, completing the circle. His head pillowed on his forearms where they rested on the chair back, the vulnerability of his position was heightened by the naked nape of his neck, exposed where his lank hair flopped forward over the gaping back of his collar.

As she studied his motionless figure it occurred to Hermione that, with the possible exception of a man with his trousers puddled around his ankles, there was no more vulnerable sight than the nape of a strong man's neck.

The air was thick with heat and so still that it felt as if she should be able to hear him breathe, but he slept on noiselessly. As if he had no conscience.

Easing herself from the bed, Hermione gathered up the voluminous folds of her pin-tucked white nightgown and padded over to where Snape, looking as boneless as Crookshanks, slept. The heat must have made him discard his usual robe or coat, for he wore only a fine cambric shirt and black trousers and boots. It was the first time she had noticed the shape of the man who inhabited the black robes which seemed so much a part of him. Come to that, it was the first time she had thought of him as a man rather than the purveyor of dark sarcasms and casual cruelties in the classroom.

The fabric of the white shirt was thin enough to reveal the muscled contours of his bowed back and the sharply pricked definition of his spine. He was too thin for such a large-boned man, a fact usually disguised by his layers of clothes. He must be very tired not to have heard her. Her expression hardened.

"Professor."

Gaining no response, she prodded his shoulder, flinching back a step when his head shot up in a tangle of black hair. His drowsy lack of focus and rumpled approachability were in stark contrast to his usual severe formality.

"Miss Granger." A betraying relief lit his tired face as he prepared to rise from the chair.

Before he could do so Hermione struck out; swinging her entire body around into the punch to increase its force, she connected with the centre of that pale face. Already off-balance, her blow sent him sprawling and the chair crashing to the ground.

She yelped with pain, involuntarily tucking her throbbing right hand under her left armpit, while glaring at her felled adversary. Her knuckles felt as if they were broken.

"You bastard!" she cried, sweeping her wand from the table to the top of the bed before she could give in to the urge to cause more damage. For the first time she understood the terrible temptations that accompanied their powers and the knowledge marked her.

His eyes watering with pain, Snape sat cupping his nose, blood smearing his fingers as he looked up at her, wearing an expression she wasn't sure how to interpret.

She began to shake with reaction. Merlin save her, she'd hit Snape. She'd assaulted a teacher and was going to be expelled...

Then Madam Pomfrey was there.

"Hermione? Whatever has happened, child?"

Hermione turned to her with a helpless gesture and was mortified to find she had started to cry again. At this rate she would be spending all her time with Moaning Myrtle. Then she stopped thinking and took refuge in the comforting arms that encircled her.

"Really, Severus," scolded Madam Pomfrey, from over the top of Hermione's head.

His eyes widening at the injustice of the unspoken accusation, Snape remained on the floor in case Miss Granger decided to give another demonstration of her pugilistic abilities. A cupped hand collecting the drops of blood, he waited for Poppy to notice that his nose had been broken - again.

If he didn't bleed to death first.

 

By the time Madam Pomfrey had sent Hermione off for 'a nice long soak in the bath,' Snape's nose had stopped bleeding, although the bruising around his eyes was already evident. Madam Pomfrey healed the break and reduced the bruising within seconds.

"Hermione made almost as good a job of this as James Potter did," she said reminiscently.

"If with more reason." Snape gingerly prodded the already bumpy bridge of his nose.

Madam Pomfrey smacked his hand away from the area. "It won't heal any faster with you prodding it. Do I have to remind you that I know what I'm doing? Or should I remind you of your only disastrous attempt at healing yourself? Here," she ruined the effect of her scolding by handing him a Chocolate Frog.

He eyed it with astonishment even as his fingers unwrapped it, catching it with ease as it made a bid for freedom. "How old do you think I am? Mmn. I'd forgotten how good these are," he admitted, devouring it with obvious pleasure.

"You forgot to eat again, didn't you," she said with resignation.

"I was looking something up in the library and forgot the time. It's not often that quiet."

"Yes, students can be such a nuisance at a school," she agreed dryly.

He spared her a dirty look. "I happen to enjoy work - unlike most of the pupils and staff."

"Can I be around when you tell Minerva or March that? For my own part I've no objections to being insulted to my face and..."

Snape held up his hands in surrender. "I'm going, I'm going."

"Covered in blood? It always amazes me how far a little goes. One of the house elves will bring you a meal. You're having it here because that way I can be sure you'll actually eat it." With the aid of her wand Madam Pomfrey set the room to rights, even dealing with his bloodied shirt and hands.

"What do you plan to do about this?" she asked, gesturing broadly.

Snape swallowed his mouthful of chocolate. "About what?"

"Miss Granger struck you - a professor of Hogwarts."

"It's the holidays. She lashed out at 'that-bastard-Snape', not a professor. And if you imagine I'm keen to advertise the fact I was laid out by a chit of a girl you don't know me very well. The Gryffindors would be lining up round the block. Thinking about it, you can add the rest of the school to that tally. So if word of Miss Granger's right hook gets out I shall know who to blame."

"As if I would!" Madam Pomfrey looked genuinely upset. "Oh, you were joking. Well, it isn't funny. Let me tell you Severus Snape, I take my responsibilities every bit as seriously as you take yours. And if you need reminding of the fact I can find you - "

He looked amused. "Poppy, I'm not eleven any more. You can't give me a detention. Not that you ever did, as I recall," he added, a distant expression on his face. "Did I ever thank you for all you did for me?"

She gave an indulgent snort and ruffled his hair, not to mention his dignity. "Gratitude from a Slytherin? Even I'm not that much of an optimist," she teased.

For a moment the adult reverted to a skinny eleven year old as he tried to reorder his hair without being too obvious about it. Madam Pomfrey hid a smile. Severus had always been vain. He must have hated using the Appearance Detracting Charm at first; nowadays he was so accustomed to it that he forgot to take it off, even in the holidays. Not that anyone would ever call him handsome... Though she would kill for those eyelashes of his. Wasted on a man. Or perhaps not, she mused, studying him. Oh to be forty years younger. Well, maybe thirty, at a pinch.

She blinked and saw only the man again, weighed down by knowledge and experiences of which she could only guess. The same could be said of many at Hogwarts - they lived in difficult and dangerous times - but she had known him since he was eleven years old and while it shouldn't, it made a difference. She had seen a lot of Severus during those early years, before he learnt best how to defend himself.

"Poppy?"

"What, dear?" she said vaguely, refocusing.

"Nothing. You just looked..." Snape shrugged, then grimaced, a stifled sound escaping him before he doubled over, grunting with pain. His forearm was pressed to his torso in a vain attempt to reduce the hurt, the fingers of his free hand unconsciously clawing at it.

"I have to go," he grated, his jaw locked before he sagged as the intense pain eased to a more tolerable level.

"Oh, not so soon," she protested involuntarily. "You've barely recovered from the last - "

"There's no time for this, Poppy." Age descended on youth, his face set, it was as if he had never known warmth or laughter. "Do you have a robe I can borrow?" His lank hair clung sweatily to his temples.

"Yes. Here. It's a spare of Remus's."

Pulling it on, he was already at the door. "Tell the Headmaster," he said, turning. While his expression was schooled, his eyes betrayed his dread of what was to come.

That hurt worst of all because she had never let herself consider how terrified he must be as he answered Voldemort's summons, never knowing if this was the one that would send him into the same ward as Longbottom's parents - or that he wouldn't survive at all. She had more cause than her colleagues to be aware of what the last two years had cost him, not least because he came to her only in extremity.

"Of course, child. Keep safe," she added, because no one should have to look like that.

It hurt even more that he should look so surprised by her concern.

The next day the heat was so intense it was almost a living entity. Even the Hogwarts' ghosts seemed lethargic, remaining in the dungeons, where it was coolest. People had difficulty sleeping and tempers grew short, not helped by the fact many of the staircases seemed to have disappeared altogether.

Unable to sleep and knowing better than to take the Dreamless Sleeping Potion every night, Black prowled the corridors in search of cool air. A sharp sound brought his head up; unable to track its source he changed into his animal form and soon ended up outside the darkened staff room. Transfiguring back, he had barely taken two steps when he relaxed on realising that apart from Headless Nick, who appeared to be dozing in the corner of the ceiling, the only living occupant was Snape, who was sprawled on one of the battered but comfortable sofas.

"I might have known you'd be communing with the dark," said Black, standing over the supine figure. "I'm glad I've found you, I want a word."

"Then it's your lucky n-night."

"What the bloody hell do you think you were doing to Hermione Granger the other day? She's a plucky girl and you - " Black stopped talking to sniff the air. "I can smell blood." He made an accusation of it.

"No, I haven't d-drunk the blood of any infants."

"Never mind the sarcasm, how badly are you hurt?" There was more impatience than concern in the query.

"S-sorry to d-disappoint you."

"I'm serious."

"S-so am I. F-fuck off."

Snape's ability to wound with his tongue meant he rarely needed to resort to obscenities and did so only in times of emotional stress. Black crouched beside the sofa and fished out his wand.

"Lumos!" He stared at Snape, instinctively made to put out a comforting hand and thought the better of it in case he did any more damage. "Don't move," he breathed, before he left at a run to find Madam Pomfrey.

His eyes shut, Snape muttered peevishly to himself about the stupidity of those who stated the obvious. Then the pain swelled again, making thought impossible.

In some ways that was a relief.

***

 

Hermione started awake when she heard the noise coming from the ward across the corridor to the one she occupied. She slipped out of bed, tucked her wand into the sleeve of her nightgown and went to investigate.

The sound of an animal in agony made her wince. Terrified, because it had come from inside the ward and she had never been able to forget her terrifying encounter with the Mountain Troll, she grasped her wand tightly and edged across the corridor and through the other door. At first she could see nothing but the backs of Madam Pomfrey, Professors Lupin, Flitwick and Sprout, and Sirius Black.

"...of all the bloody silly places to go, the staff room had to be the worst," said Black. He sounded shaken.

"Steady," murmured Lupin, gripping his shoulder.

"It's a wonder he got back at all," retorted Madam Pomfrey grimly. "I'll speak to Albus again. He must put a stop to this!"

She moved slightly and in the gap she left Hermione glimpsed a man's starkly muscled forearm, the bloodied hand grasping clawlike at the air. As she watched the fingers contracted, the hand forming shapes she would have believed impossible if she hadn't just seen it; there was another of those terrible sounds.

"Not again," said Black shakily, sounding as if he was going to be sick. "Can't you give him something?"

"Hermione, my dear," said Dumbledore from behind her.

Blinking, Hermione discovered she was in the corridor outside her ward, standing opposite the headmaster, with no clear idea of how she came to be there. She fingered her nightgown in tranquil puzzlement.

" - glad we've had this little chat. You get off to bed for a nice long sleep. Good night, my dear. Sweet dreams." As he offered an insubstantial, one-armed embrace she smelt lemons and sunshine.

She suddenly remembered how Snape had wrapped himself around her, enfolding her with security; he had smelt of cypress, rosemary and - disconcertingly - of clean, healthy man. Ironic, that someone who spent so much of his life in the dark should smell of green things growing.

"Goodnight, Headmaster," she said tranquilly.

 

Hermione slept soundly, although tantalisingly she could remember nothing of the dreams which tickled her back brain - beyond a sense of urgency. But it was hard to wake the following morning and she felt heavy and lethargic and as though there was something important she had forgotten.

She decided to take a day off from studying while she found somewhere cool and private; she didn't want company today. The ferocity of the sun meant that going outside was something of a penance, so she went to the top of the Astronomy Tower, which offered both shade and the possibility of a breeze. While it was only a little cooler, the dizzying views of the surrounding neighbourhood made it worthwhile. She did what she had so rarely done in her life and just sat, watching the world, letting her mind wander at will.

She would be eighteen in September. A woman. Of course, if you took loss of virginity into account then she'd been a woman for a while. The first time had been a disaster, not helped by the fact Viktor had been so nervous that he'd had too much to drink, while she'd got hiccups. Luckily, things had improved after that...

She gave a reminiscent grin. They'd improved quite a lot actually, although Viktor's age and career meant they didn't get a chance to spend much time together. She would owl him. But not yet. She wasn't ready for monosyllables and the constant need to interpret their true meaning. It was typical that Sebastian Knott from Ravenclaw hadn't given her a second glance. Imagine the novelty of a boy-friend who didn't think you were extraordinary because you voluntarily read a book - or one who wanted to discuss something other than Quidditch or sex. So naturally he went out with that giggling idiot from Hufflepuff with big breasts who never disagreed with anything he said. Though it was true that Cathy was always in the top five for their year. Merlin, if even Sebastian wanted to pretend his girlfriend didn't have a brain what hope was there?

Never going to happen, she thought sadly, reviewing all the males of her acquaintance.

Absently eating the meal the house elves brought her, she sat thinking about where Voldemort might strike next. It was difficult to look beyond the shadow he cast over all their lives but if you allowed that shadow to rule you he had won anyway.

Then there was the rest of her life to think about. The years at Hogwarts had opened up so many possibilities that she hardly knew where to start. She supposed, in a vague kind of way, that one day she would have to get to grips with wizard society. It was no good asking Ron - his mum and dad didn't seem to be regarded as typical, if there was such a thing, even in the wizarding world. But the truth was, she really didn't know much - anything - about it. They seemed a pretty solitary lot, given that Hogsmeade was the only community - apart from Diagon and Knockturn Alleys - and there were certainly a lot of rivalries and petty jealousies. Maybe Muggles and wizards weren't so different after all, she mused.

Comfortingly, the future no longer seemed so frightening as it had a few days ago. She had always been a loner - not from choice, initially, but now she felt comfortable with her own company and less as if she needed to prove herself by being surrounded by a circle of people she didn't even like very much. She would give almost anything to have her mum and dad back but... This was her world now and it was useless to feel guilty about wanting to be more a part of it than ever.

As for what she did once she left Hogwarts... There was no particular rush. That was a year away. She would never starve. She was intelligent, resourceful and she even had a little money to keep her going for a while. She also had people to whom she could turn if she needed them. People in whom she could entrust her very life.

Much as she had been enjoying the chance to study without the constant need to excuse or explain her actions this summer, she was beginning to miss Harry, and Ron. While she spent quite a lot of time with Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey, she had absolutely no desire to confide in them, as they seem to expect. But then she always had preferred male company. She was on cordial enough terms with most of the girls in her year now - going steady with Viktor seemed to have given her a credibility that coming top in the class every year had failed to do - but they didn't have much in common. Not that she and Ron did, come to that - except Harry. She was just grateful that Ron had got over his crush on her; it had stemmed only from the fear he wouldn't find a girlfriend of his own. He'd certainly been making up for lost time since then.

She wondered idly how Harry's burgeoning romance with that girl in Ravenclaw was getting on while it was restricted to owl post, which tended to dampen anyone's ardour. But then Harry had become increasingly resourceful when it came to getting his own way.

Surprised to discover it was dark already she settled back on the cushions she had piled onto the window seat and lay watching the night sky until she fell asleep.

 

She woke to find it was dawn and that she was no longer alone. Sirius Black, his shoulder propped against the wall and his gaze on the distant horizon, was obviously keeping watch, while Lupin lay fast asleep beside him. As she watched, Lupin twitched and muttered something faintly in his sleep. Black bent down and rubbed him gently on the back; the murmuring faded away, what she could see of Lupin's face gaining a look of peace.

Still half-asleep, she wondered what it must be like to live with the knowledge that every month, at the whim of the moon, you turned into a werewolf, intellect subsumed by a creature so dark that the text books available to the junior years gave only the sketchiest of details. Werewolves were made, not born, and then only by miscalculation on the part of the beast. Another werewolf wasn't a mate but a rival.

The wolfsbane potion must have seemed like a miracle to sufferers - while the physical change must be appalling, it could be nothing in the face of having your mind stolen from you by a creature whose only purpose was to kill. The Marauders had been foolhardy in the extreme to run with a werewolf in their animal forms - though it had worked well enough to keep Remus centred. Someone really should look into that, she mused vaguely.

Hermione refocused to see Black watching her.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. He didn't choose this for himself, you know," he added, sounding defensive, awkward and angry all that the same time.

She blinked sleepily at him. "Well, I know that. Everyone does."

Black gave a brief nod, as if she had passed some test.

She managed to find a semblance of a smile, in no hurry to face the new day. She had been dreaming again last night - not about her parents, or the Troll, or any one of the more complex anxiety dreams; it had been far, far worse than that. She had been losing her mind, literally losing the ability to think, to reason, to remember. The remnants of that terror was with her still.

She began her familiar mantra in times of panic: the twelve uses for Dragon's Blood.

There, that was better.

Because the staff had been treating her differently during the holidays, the formality the men employed when addressing her had amused her at first. Now she appreciated what lay behind it - a constant reassurance, and a reminder that any relationship they might have remained within circumscribed boundaries. For instance, it wouldn't be much fun having to fend off some lecherous wizard old enough to be her father, or even one who was vain enough to think she had a crush on him. With the memories of Gilderoy Lockhart always around to haunt her she was glad of the reminder. Not that there was anyone at Hogwarts to get a crush on, she reminded herself. Even the youngest were old enough to be her father....

She was suddenly pierced by a longing to see her own father, just once more. She'd never even had the chance to tell him she loved him and -

"Miss Granger?" said Black urgently, looking worried. He looked decidedly uneasy when she silently began to cry.

"Well, I know Sirius' social skills still need a lot of work but even he doesn't usually have this effect," said Lupin as he propped himself up into a sitting position.

Hermione looked up, her chin wobbling, tears spilling down her cheeks. The words 'want' and 'father' were just distinguishable.

Lupin's expression became kind. "Of course you do. You cry, my dear. You cry for them both as much as you want. Should you want to talk about them we would be honoured to listen. Here. Take this." Getting up, he came over to offer her a clean handkerchief, before heading for the door leading to the stairs, taking Black with him.

Later, blowing her nose one final time, Hermione silently gave him thanks. Oddly she felt much better now. A knock on the open door made her look up to see that Professor Lupin and Sirius Black had returned with the most wonderful breakfast of crusty bread, honey, and fresh strawberries and raspberries.

"The house elves will bring the next course when we've finished this," explained Black.

"If you've no objection to our joining you," added Professor Lupin, with a pointed look at his companion.

Black grimaced. "Sorry, Hermione. Miss Granger, I mean. I keep forgetting."

Hermione grinned at them both. "I'd enjoy the company. I've never liked eating alone."

They were all hungry and conversation was at a minimum until they had taken the first edge off their appetite. The house elves had excelled themselves with the variety and quality of the menus this morning and all three ate shameful quantities of food.

"That was wonderful. Thank you," Hermione said with real gratitude, wishing she was wearing something with a waistband so she could loosen it.

"Thank Remus," said Black ruefully. "I've never known what to do with crying females. Uh, that is to say - "

"Professor Lupin's right. Your social skills could do with some work," said Hermione, before her expression softened. "Hardly surprising. But once He- Voldemort is dead you'll be able to clear your name and restart your life. I know Harry's looking forward to that so much. In the meantime, perhaps you should hone those rusty skills on Professor Lupin and myself."

"You should be aware that tact has never been Sirius' strong point," said Lupin, his smile reaching clear to his eyes.

"I'm used to that from Ron and Harry," she pointed out cheerfully before she looked at Black again. "I can only imagine what twelve years amongst Dementors must have been like. But you will regain everything they stole from you. Just give yourself time. You've only been free four years and some of that time was on the run. Look how much better you've felt since you've been at Hogwarts."

"That's very perceptive of you," Black said stiffly, obviously uncomfortable at this drawing out into the open of something that usually remained unspoken.

"Not really. Just common sense. Fortunately I have a good supply of that - as well as intelligence."

"While Sirius has never been over-burdened with either," smiled Lupin, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. But as he smiled at the man he had just insulted he looked almost happy, rather than strained and worn.

"That potion of Snape's must be doing you good," said Hermione. "You look loads better."

"Professor Snape," corrected Lupin mildly. "Yes, that must be the reason." Black choked on a raspberry pip. "Can we tempt you to come swimming with us?" added Lupin. "The water's wonderfully warm and the giant squid enjoys company."

Hermione shook her head. "I'd rather spend a few hours in the library," she said, no longer feeling the need to apologise for the fact.

Black gave her a look in which incomprehension and respect were mixed. "If I didn't know better I'd say you'd been spending too much time around Snape."

"Time we were going," said Lupin with haste.

From the expression on his face Hermione guessed that Black would be getting another lecture on tact.

 

Hermione had only intended to call in on the library to pick up a book she wanted but as there was no sign of Snape she stayed there to do her research, relieved not to have to face him yet. However, as the day progressed, she was disconcerted not to glimpse his tall figure around the castle, grounds, or at mealtimes. He wasn't in the dungeons either. Obscurely bothered, she spent the evening in the staff room, playing exploding snap with Flitwick, but there was still no sign of Snape.

When she casually mentioned the fact Flitwick looked up in surprise.

"Severus? He's gone on holiday. As you know, we all have work to do around Hogwarts, preparing for the new academic year and guarding the castle. We're taking it in turns to have a few days off."

"Snape goes on holiday?" she said incredulously.

"Professor Snape," Flitwick corrected her, his voice gentle but firm. "We do have lives outside Hogwarts, you know. Even if it is sometimes difficult to remember it ourselves." He went off to join Professors Sprout and McGonagall, who were watching Black's limited success as he tried to juggle four apples.

"Why not just use your wand?" Professor Sprout asked, puzzled.

Sighing, Black again explained that it defeated the object and a lively debate ensued, leaving Hermione sitting on the fringe, musing over the issue.

"Hello, dear," said Madam Pomfrey to Hermione, as she came into the room. "You look better today. I believe there was some air up in the Astronomy Tower."

"A little. I spent the night there," said Hermione.

"So I heard. For the sake of all our nerves tell someone where you're going next time."

Hermione looked puzzled.

"You had half the staff combing the castle and grounds for you last night," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh. Sorry. No one said anything."

"No, they prefer to leave the dirty work to others," she said, casting a look of meaning over to the noisy group of professors. Little sparks of magic were darting around the room in exuberant bursts. "Very pretty, Ceres," Madam Pomfrey called, before she returned her attention to Hermione. "Of course, it would have helped if anyone had thought to check with the house elves. Ah, ginger tea! Just the thing. Will you have a cup?"

"No, thank you," said Hermione politely, having a fondness for her taste buds.

"Then try a piece of shortbread and tell me what it is you're wondering if you should ask me."

"How - ? You should teach Divination. In fact I expect all those unfortunates still taking it wish you would," added Hermione frankly.

"I know you gave it up in favour of Arithmancy, haven't the others?" Madam Pomfrey looked surprised.

"Harry wasn't allowed to. Because Professor Trelawney has the odd real premonition. About him, I mean. The others just see Divination as an easy option. It drove me mad. Will Professor Trelawney be away for all the summer holiday?"

"Oh, yes. We insisted," added Madam Pomfrey.

"We?"

"The entire staff. Severus was most eloquent on the subject."

Able to imagine the scene, Hermione almost choked on a biscuit crumb. "Yes, I would imagine he might be," she allowed.

"Of course, it wasn't likely that someone with such an orderly mind as yours would take to Divination. I loathed it myself. And we weren't lucky enough to have Sybill Trelawney. Now, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

"Well, I know it's the holidays but you seem to be spending a lot of your time in the hospital wing..."

Madam Pomfrey shot her a swift look, relaxing when she realised Hermione meant nothing beyond what she said.

"I was wondering if I might study with you - when you have the time," Hermione added conscientiously.

"So you're considering becoming a medi-witch," said Madam Pomfrey non-committally.

"Considering, yes. The trouble is, I know more about Muggle medicine, which is no use at all. The idea of healing through magic fascinates me - but then so do a lot of other subjects, particularly since I began to appreciate how much they intertwine. I like most of them really. Except for Divination, Care of Magical Creatures - they either bite, smell or excrete all the time - and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've no fancy to master the Dark Arts?"

"I get the impression they master us if we give them the chance," said Hermione dryly.

Madam Pomfrey patted her on the arm. "Just so. If only more people your age could be brought to realise that..."

Hermione went pale. "You mean the Death Eaters?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

"Is it true that He- Voldemort - calls the initiates after they've had their eighteenth birthday?"

"So they say," said Madam Pomfrey, her attention elsewhere.

"I don't envy the Slytherins this year," Hermione said, her mouth twisting.

"May I join you?" said Professor McGonagall, sitting beside them when they nodded. "I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying." She helped herself to a piece of shortbread. "What makes you assume Death Eaters come only from the ranks of the Slytherins, Miss Granger?"

She blinked. "Everyone knows that all the dark wizards of great power have come from Slytherin."

"While conveniently forgetting those from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Less from Hufflepuff, of course," said Madam Pomfrey reflectively. "But when we turn bad, watch out. We can give most Slytherins you care to name a run for their money."

"Hufflepuff?" exclaimed Hermione, trying not to smile at the idea.

"If you want to became a halfway decent medi-witch you need to start seeing more than the obvious. Despite what they like to believe many Gryffindors and Slytherins aren't known for their subtlety of approach. Look around you. Ask yourself, when was the last time you saw anyone misbehave in one of Ceres Sprout's classes? It's true there's no one to beat Minerva here or Severus for holding the attention of a class but Ceres comes a good third."

"But she's so...nice," Hermione faltered.

"There's no need to make a pejorative of the word," smiled Professor McGonagall. "Gryffindor and Slytherin are the houses for the bulk of the seekers of glory and fame but you dismiss Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at your peril. A mistake I feel sure Voldemort is making."

Hermione shot her a speculative look.

"No, Miss Granger. I don't know anything. I wish I did. That was just hope talking. This is likely to be a tense year. So," Professor McGonagall added in a obvious attempt to change the subject to more cheerful topics, "you're going to be training with Poppy for the rest of the summer?"

"If she'll let me," said Hermione, wrestling with the idea that Lee or Seamus could become Death Eaters. That Crabbe and Goyle most certainly would. Merlin. They'd be in class with Death Eaters.

"How are we supposed to protect Harry, if there are Death Eaters in Hogwarts?" she blurted out.

All sound in the room stopped.

"The same way we always have, child," said Professor Sprout from the other sofa. "With care and vigilance."

"Which are qualities much in demand amongst those wishing to become medi-witches," cut in Madam Pomfrey, at her most brisk.

"I couldn't agree more," said Professor McGonagall. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to retire."

Madam Pomfrey and Hermione murmured their goodnights as she left the room, transfiguring as she went out the door.

"I'll enjoy setting you a course of study. From all I hear you've a fine mind and you enjoy using it. Naturally it will be all theory, without any patients. At least I hope I won't be required to see any more patients," said Madam Pomfrey, looking sterner than Hermione had ever seen her.

She flushed. "I suppose Snape - "

"Professor Snape."

" - told you what I did," continued Hermione, stubbornly refusing him the courtesy of his title.

"He didn't need to. I could hardly miss what had happened, given that he was bleeding all over my clean floor."

"No, I suppose not," conceded Hermione in a small voice. "Is he all right?"

"It didn't occur to you to ask before?"

"No. I - er - forgot."

"How convenient. He'll live. I've been mending broken noses for over fifty years. The majority of them inflicted by a Gryffindor on a Slytherin, or vice versa."

"I broke it. Mercy. I'll be expelled for sure," whispered Hermione, having allowed herself to forget the heated scene in the hospital wing.

"As to that, I wouldn't know. Just don't go around attacking any of your professors again."

"Oh, I won't," Hermione assured her fervently. "Not even... I didn't mean to. I just saw him sleeping and - something snapped."

"Did it? I confess, I had expected better of you. Out of interest, why didn't you reach for your wand?"

Hermione looked down, this not a topic she was at all comfortable thinking about.

"It's a question which needs to be addressed," Madam Pomfrey pointed out in a gentler tone.

"Yes, I know," conceded Hermione unhappily. "I hit him because I wanted the satisfaction of contact. Of feeling him flinch. I was so angry. It was only afterwards that I saw my wand lying there and thought of all the other things I could do to him. He was still half-asleep, an easy target and I've always had good wand control. I never realised how tempting it could be," she whispered, her nails digging into her sweating palms.

Ashamed, she didn't look up for some time and so was taken aback by the understanding she saw on Madam Pomfrey's face.

"No need to look so tragic, child. You think we haven't all faced the same self-knowledge at some point or another? In essence, it's the choosing not to take the temptingly easy option that separates us from those who choose the dark. Don't under-estimate how seductive its lures can be. But no one is going to pretend it's easy to make those choices. Or that there aren't occasions when we fail. The secret is that none of us can ever stop trying to master ourselves."

Hermione's fingers twisted themselves into knots. "Should I see the headmaster? About this, I mean?"

"If Albus needs to speak with you you'll be the first to know."

"But - "

"But me no buts. There are enough people with martyr complexes around Hogwarts as it is. Yet another dangerous trap to fall into. Now, on to a more pleasant topic. If you're serious about studying with me you'll need to do some background reading before you can be of any use. Come up to my quarters and I'll find you some books to start you off."


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

 

After five days of working with Madam Pomfrey Hermione had no time to spare for martyr complexes, or much else. It was like being a first year all over again - except worse because she had all her rudimentary Muggle knowledge getting in the way. She was discovering that in her own way the benign medi-witch was as exacting as Snape, if less vitriolic.

Hermione headed back from the library, the stack of books she held so large that she couldn't see over them, although they were weightless, thanks to a Levitation Charm. In the circumstances it was ridiculous to maintain physical contact with the books but she enjoyed the feel of the different bindings; she even liked the disconcerting smells and suggestion of whispering that came from a couple of them. She hadn't intended to work today but she was sleeping so badly that it had been a relief to abandon the pretence and do something to dispel the shadows which stalked her dreaming mind. Over breakfast she remembered a point Snape had made about the use of Adder's Tongue Fern that could well impact on the study of the plant she was preparing for Madam Pomfrey. She would have liked to discuss it further with him but there wouldn't be any more chats, even when he came back from his holiday.

Suddenly the incessant babble of slights, taunts and threats above her head became too much.

"Peeves, if you don't stop pestering me I'm calling the Bloody Baron again. I heard him down the corridor," she threatened as she quickened her pace, desperate to get away from the Poltergeist.

Peeves fled in a flurry of grovelling apologies, having learnt that Hermione's patience was no longer to be relied upon. The Gryffindor was discovering her teeth and claws; she had already set the Baron on him twice this week.

Rounding a narrow corner at speed, unable to see where she was going because of the pile of books in front of her, Hermione collided with someone hard enough to send them both flying off-balance. Her concentration broken, the Charm supporting the books failed; as volumes began to rain down she grabbed her wand, being more concerned with their well-being than with protecting herself from a tumble onto the stone flags.

"Leviosa!" she yelled, becoming aware that a male voice was echoing the charm, just before she toppled into a suit of armour, which promptly fell apart with some unpleasant screeching noises. Crying out as one of the breast plates struck her on the shoulder Hermione landed on someone who, while softer than stone flags, was bonier than she would have chosen. Beneath the stink of rusting metal she smelt a hint of cypress and rosemary.

Snape.

He gave a winded gasp and lay still for a moment, the vulnerable arch of his throat in front of her. Only then did Hermione appreciate that she had the tip of her wand digging into the vein pulsing under the sharp definition of his jaw. A trickle of energy flared blue before she controlled it and he flinched. Belatedly reining in her power, she tried to withdraw. Armour clanged and she discovered how little room for manoeuvre she had.

Snape's eyes snapped open, seeming to see far more than she was comfortable with before his attention moved to a spot over her head.

"Direct your wand a little to your left," he instructed, his breathing still ragged. "Exercise great care. You risk bringing the stand down on top of you."

A Levitation Charm later and Hermione was free to get up, which she did with alacrity when she appreciated the size and probable weight of that stand; it could have killed them both.

Looking sallow and underslept, Snape rose to his feet in slow stages and propped himself against the wall. She had never seen him look so dishevelled, or in need of a shave, before. The black stubble did nothing to make him seem more approachable.

"How could you be so sure I wouldn't use this against you?" Hermione demanded belligerently, gesturing with her wand. There was no need for him to assume she was another Neville Longbottom just because she wasn't one of his Slytherins.

"Apart from the tedious nobility of a Gryffindor? How else would you be able to maintain your feelings of superiority over lesser mortals?"

"Judging everyone by yourself again?" she retorted.

The dark gaze assessed, catalogued and - finding nothing of interest - moved on with hurtful speed. Disconcerted by that intensely masculine assessment of her person Hermione became aware that her hair had escaped confinement, her nails were grubby and that her clothing was creased and crumpled.

"No," he said, giving her a final look of disdain.

Rejection was never easy to accept, even when it came from Snape. Hermione stuck up her chin and blinked hard.

"I am not to going to cry again, whatever you say to me." Her voice held an ignominious wobble. Since he had broken down her defences she was prone to lapses into emotion when she least expected it; her lack of sleep in recent days hadn't helped her emotional control.

The laces of his thin black shirt torn, Snape abandoned his attempts at neatness to give her a look of surprise. "It never occurred to me that you might."

The urge to weep receding by the second, Hermione stared at him.

"Why not?" That had been close to a compliment and compliments from Snape were rarer than Roc's eggs.

"Because I have other interests apart from your undistinguished self," he said in his usual brutal manner.

About to snap a reply back to him, it occurred to Hermione that Snape's manner might conceal more than it revealed. She also had time to notice that for someone who had supposedly been on holiday he looked worse than when she had seen him last - in fact he looked as if he had been sharply ill. She wondered briefly why Madam Pomfrey hadn't done anything to improve the shape of his nose when she had mended it. It was so hooked it was a wonder it didn't meet his chin.

Discovering himself to be under surveillance, Snape gave her a look of hauteur. "What now?" he demanded with impatience.

"I shouldn't have hit you," she said baldly, avoiding the necessity of an insincere apology.

From his unpleasant half-smile he was as aware of the evasion as she was.

"No," he agreed, unobtrusively gripping for support the rough stone wall behind him.

"I thought I might be expelled over it."

"An entrancing thought. Unfortunately it isn't term time."

"So that's why - "

"No points were deducted from Gryffindor? Just so. Should there be a repetition, Gryffindor will find itself in minus points for the next decade. 'It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.'"

"I thought it was your nose I broke."

"It was a quotation, Miss Granger. Just a quotation." Snape pushed himself away from the wall with a perceptible effort.

Hermione had a sudden unwelcome memory of Snape sprawled on the floor of the hospital wing. Despite her unprovoked attack he had made absolutely no attempt to retaliate, either verbally or physically. Odder still, it had never occurred to her that he might. Only then did she realise why she was so angry with him.

"I don't understand," she said, ignoring the books hovering within her reach. "I mean, I can see why you did what you did to me - now. But did you have to enjoy it?"

Snape spun back to her so fast that it made the thin fabric of his unlaced shirt flare out to reveal disconcerting amounts of pale skin.

"Why, yes. Sport is slow during the summer holidays," he said, a brittle, cutting edge to his voice. "Good day to you, Miss Granger." He stalked off down the corridor, his boot heels echoing on the stone flags.

Staring after that straight-backed figure, Hermione had the oddest feeling that this was the first encounter she had ever won with Snape. It didn't bring the satisfaction she had been expecting.

 

Sweat was clammy on Snape's skin by the time he turned the corner. Another corridor, even longer than the first, stretched out in front of him, but at least he didn't have those damnably honest eyes boring into his back.

It became more difficult to maintain the illusion of health now there was no audience and he faltered, restarted and faltered again. A high keening sound in his ears, cold waves of sweat submerged him and he slumped against the wall before he could lose consciousness. Misjudging the distance, he collided with the decorative carved arm of the stone bench.

The pain was excruciating, although it had the merit of clearing his head. His breath hissing inwards, he massaged his bruised thigh, grateful the collision hadn't been two inches to the left.

Not that it would have made any difference, except to the level of pain. It wasn't as if he'd used it to do more than piss with for the last seventeen years. Or was it eighteen?

You would think the date would be etched on his balls. Instead, impotence had become just one more knotted lash on his personal scourge.

He slumped down onto the bench and leant back his head, his eyes closing in despair. He was so tired. To the point where he didn't care about anything any more because he could see no end to any of it. Today, as for all the days he could remember, there was no one with whom he could share his thoughts. Not that he would share them - bad enough to live with this level of terror without giving it voice - but it would be nice to have a choice. Sometimes he felt as if he was bound on a nightmare journey destined never to end. Other times he thought the loneliness would drive him mad, or worse, that it had already done so.

And he could see no way of making it stop.

Or only one. And that way was closed to him, the only barrier a promise made when he was twenty one.

Ironic. How many people would credit that Severus Snape knew how to keep his word? It had been a matter of honour to keep this one: payment in full of an unwanted debt.

It was just a pity he was an emotional pauper and so had gained nothing while feeling as if he had lost everything.

Even Dumbledore didn't know how he had come to be a Death Eater. If only he could pretend it had been a hunger for power - even for knowledge - when in reality it had stemmed from nothing more heroic than the fact he had been bored and bitter and felt unappreciated. Nothing at Hogwarts had challenged or stretched his talents. Surrounded by mediocrity and quantities of tedious virtue, embittered by the blatant favouritism that went on, he had looked around for something - someone - more charismatic. Voldemort had offered excitement, and knowledge so arcane it was only whispered about in academic circles - oh, and power, of course. But that was almost incidental to the wealth of learning he had promised.

He could weep for the arrogant naivety of his teenage self. What had he really known of evil at eighteen? He had been reared in the lap of luxury and if his parents had been distant it was only because they rarely remembered they had a son. There had been no expectations to fulfill because they'd had none where he had been concerned. Sometimes he thought he would rather have been beaten than ignored but he was probably deceiving himself. He hadn't enjoyed the beatings he'd received during his early years at Hogwarts. Compared to most his childhood had been a sheltered haven of privilege. Of course, he had experienced the casual cruelties, petty jealousies and squabbles inevitable in any closed community; he'd been bullied, learned to defend himself, and then bullied others in his turn, if finding means more subtle than mere physical brutality. The only real trauma had been when Black had -

It had been years before he'd got the feral reek of the werewolf from his senses. Even now, when Remus came upon him unexpectedly, and he caught the back notes of blood and fur, fear crashed through his defences, almost overwhelming him. But that wasn't Remus' fault. None of it had been Remus' fault, he could accept that now. Just.

As a child he had heard rumours of the Dark Lord, gossip that had only whetted his interest rather than the reverse, but then he had always been contrary. Nothing had resembled the tawdry, sordid reality of a man so scared of dying that he sought eternal life. It was the final insult that someone so...mundane should possess that astonishing level of power. There was more, of course. There was always more. The Dark Lord's charisma was such that even now, knowing what he did, the will of Voldemort was difficult to resist.

He had been thoroughly punished for his arrogance. The closest he had come to boredom in the years since joining the Death Eaters had been the rare moments when Binns cornered him in the staffroom. Sometimes he thought there would be nothing more pleasant than the chance for some uneventful teaching, with time for research and the writing of papers. Maybe a book or two. So much for Slytherin ambition...

Concentrating on breathing slowly and deeply, Snape fought for and attained a measure of control. In. Out. In. Out.

There. As easy as first year Potions.

The muscle spasms were less frequent now but their unpredictability was unsettling. His hands were still too unsteady for potion-making and he certainly couldn't control a classroom slumped to his knees, rocking in agony - although the sight would undoubtedly cause universal celebration, except amongst the rest of the staff, who would have to cover his classes.

Many of his colleagues looked forward to the autumn term. He dreaded it because all he could think about was who would go over to the Dark Lord this year. Crabbe and Parkinson were certainties. He had never been able to reach them but sometimes he thought - hoped - that Draco Malfoy might have started to learn to think for himself. Family pressure made it unlikely though. So three from Slytherin. Possibly Cobb from Ravenclaw. And who else?

Fuck it, he thought with sudden ferocity. Not this year. No more. Too many had been lost already. This year he would -

What? Crawl more picturesquely on his belly before he kissed the boot that kicked him? He was powerless.

Which brought him neatly back to impotence.

Despite the fact he sat bathed in sunshine, Snape shivered.

 

Having stopped to rearrange the armour, Hermione smiled as she heard it grumbling to itself as it settled down. She used her wand to redo her hair and clean the rust stains from her person before collecting up the books.

In no hurry, she headed down the long corridor. It was eerily quiet without pupils and most of the staff and she hadn't yet grown used to the lack of noise. There was a strange atmosphere - not threatening - but as if the castle was some great animal that was dozing, waiting only for the signal to awake. There were so few external sounds that she became conscious of the whisper of the folds of her long voile dress, the shush of her soft-soled shoes on the stone flags and the subliminal murmur coming from Advanced Incantations.

Rounding the corner, Hermione stopped dead. She had assumed Snape would have disappeared ages ago. Instead, he sat on a low stone bench, his back straight, his feet firmly planted, his clasped hands hanging between his wide-parted thighs. His head resting against the wall, his eyes were closed, his pale face lit by the sun streaming through the large casement windows. The stark lighting left him with no secrets, revealing the muscle twitching in his jaw and under his left eyes and the way his left arm jerked and jumped despite the fact he was trying to hold it still.

She placed what had been bothering her when she had bumped into him a short time ago; he hadn't been on holiday, he had been ill and no one had wanted to tell her. Why? Unable to think of any reason that made sense she marched in where even other Gryffindors would have backed off.

Before she had taken more than two strides closer Snape's eyes snapped open abruptly enough to make her flinch and stop where she was.

"Miss Granger." Accustomed to controlling a classroom, his voice carried effortlessly down the corridor. "Here to make it three times lucky?"

It took her a moment to place the reference. "The second time I knocked you down it was an accident." She made no attempt to salve his pride with some face-saving half-truth.

The flicker of amusement which briefly crossed his sweating face acknowledged as much. "Thank you. Did you want me?"

"No," she said with cutting promptitude.

He appeared uncrushed. "Then go away."

"In a minute. I was told you were on holiday."

Finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the pain he tried to focus on her. "I am."

"But you haven't gone anywhere."

"I'm catching up on some reading."

"I haven't seen you in the library recently."

"Where I won't be disturbed."

For a moment she could not conceal her hurt. "Oh," she said in a small voice, thinking of their lengthy discussions amongst the whispering rows of books and wondering why she had assumed he had enjoyed them as much as she had. "I didn't intend to interrupt your work. It won't happen again."

"Good. Now go and pester someone else."

He attempted to rise just as another series of muscle spasms ripped through him. They folded him sharply over, his arms wrapped around his torso in a vain attempt to subdue the pain. He could feel himself toppling forward without being able to do a thing to stop it from happening.

 

Snape regained consciousness to find himself cushioned against something warm and soft that smelt of -

Woman.

That wonderfully enticing smell that meant warm woman. This one was young and sweet-fleshed. As was usual with women, beneath her own delicious scent were myriad others: hints of frankincense, lemon grass, sandalwood and orange with back notes of almond oil and geranium. He just managed to stop himself from continuing the extensive list. Better just to enjoy.

Something tickled his nose and he rubbed it gently against the curve of her breast, experiencing a familiar stirring itch of pleasure. He felt the nipple grazing his cheekbone tighten and turned his head slightly to nuzzle it only to be jolted back to an awareness of where he was and to whom the nipple belonged when a tight, nervous-sounding voice said his name.

Hermione Granger.

A student.

Fuck.

Well, no, that was definitely not going to happen. But at least it seemed he might have a choice in the matter again.

His eyes squeezed shut, burning with tears of pure, unadulterated relief that after all these years...

It belatedly occurred to him that this particularly improvement in his well-being wasn't something he was eager to share with Hermione Granger - or anyone else at Hogwarts. If he stayed where he was the last thing the problem was going to do was go away. Of course it didn't help that the last thing he wanted was for it to go away.

He didn't want to move either. It had been a long, long time since anyone had held him like this, the hand cupping the back of his head massaging the base of his scalp in a way that made him want to purr with pleasure. And apart from the fact she smelt wonderful, she really did have the most splendid breasts.

And she was a student. He needed to concentrate on moving before his erection scared her into a lifetime of sexual abstinence. 'Snape-the-bastard' existed only to torment students, it was a well-known fact. Only right now one of his students was doing a pretty good job of tormenting him just by breathing.

Damn but she smelt wonderful.

Anyone aspiring to become a halfway decent Potions master needed an excellent sense of smell - way above average. Put him in a class of twenty hormonal teenagers and he could still tell the state of every cauldron and detect the balance of the various ingredients. Not that he had ever let his pupils become aware of that. Some actually learnt from their carelessness - except Longbottom, who seemed mentally defective. The Memory Charms which had been placed on him after the attack on his parents couldn't account for his seeming inability to obey the simplest instruction. But he was in the right House all right, he never missed a class, more was the pity. Perhaps -

Without warning another wave of cramps savaged him. His jaw clenched on a cry, Snape moved uncontrollably.

 

Hermione knew to the moment when 'Snape-the-bastard' slid away to be forever reduced to the status of a mere man: bad-tempered, often unjust, but just a man with all the faults and talents and hopes and fears that went with the title. It didn't happen when, shivering with pain, he buried his face in her lap in an attempt to conceal just how bad this was, his hands clawed and twisted; it wasn't even when guttural sounds escaped his control. It was simpler than that. The revelation came when, in an extremity of pain, he tried to crawl away in case he inadvertently hurt her. That he was even capable of rational thought was amazing enough; that it should be her welfare that was foremost in his mind...

Shedding preconceptions by the second, Hermione grimly held on to him through the worst of it, becoming increasingly desperate when no help came. There was never a house elf around when you needed one.

A hellish couple of minutes later she remembered how Dumbledore had used a simple spell to project his voice through the Great Hall. Fumbling for her wand, she pointed it at her throat.

But still no one came.

She could tell when the worst was over because little by little the starkly defined muscles of his back began to relax under her hand. His clothing was sodden with sweat and he was shaking almost as much as she was.

Hermione gave a determined sniff and angrily wiped her wet face dry with the back of her hand. A fat lot of use she'd been. She had never had to watch anyone suffer like this before and along with her fear for him it made her fiercely angry that she hadn't been able to do anything to stop it. The various pain-relieving spells she had tried had rolled off him like water down a pane of glass.

His harsh rasps for air were steadying, becoming slower and shallower. When his breathing approached normal he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Still clumsy and uncoordinated, he succeeded on the third attempt and slumped against the support of the wall. His sweat-soaked hair clung to his face and scalp and he looked - pared to the bone, she thought with a pang.

"Miss G-Granger. D-did I h-hurt you?"

She shook her head, fighting to steady her inclined-to-quiver chin.

"I'm s-sorry if I f-frightened you."

"Why should you think you did that? All in a day's work. What's wrong with you?"

He was finding it difficult to think. "An o-old injury," he said at last.

"That repels magic?"

"How - ?"

"You think I could sit back and let anyone suffer that way without trying to help?" Her fear began to manifest itself in anger.

He held his hands up in front of his chest, palms outwards, in a universal gesture of surrender. "N-no," he said simply. It was, he supposed, inevitable that she should possess a full measure of Gryffindor sentimentality.

"You need to see Madam Pomfrey."

"I j-just n-need sleep. She knows. There's n-nothing she can do," he added, when she continued to glare at him. From her reddened nose and eyes she had been crying again; he must have scared her badly because she had the heart of a lion. "Thank you," he added, at his most formal. He wondered if he dared try to stand yet.

"Stay still," she commanded, trying to camouflage her concern. "If you try to walk any distance you're liable to fall flat on your face." A small movement of her wand produced a stretcher.

He eyed it with loathing.

"Haven't you spent enough time grovelling at my feet over the last few days?" she asked tartly.

Instead of being offended, Snape gave the faintest of grins and eyed her with new interest. "That was a remark almost worthy of m-me."

"If only you could be relied upon to show as much common sense as me. If you won't accept my help will you stay here while I go and get someone? I tried increasing the volume of my voice and it seemed to work but it can't have done because it was ages ago and no one has come." She finally wound down to stare at him, trying not to remember the worst of it.

"Did you think to give our location?" Snape smiled at her look of chagrin.

"Bugger!" said Hermione crossly. She got to her feet, looking for her wand.

It was then that he noticed her scraped hands and arms and the traces of blood around knee height on the flimsy fabric of her pretty dress.

"You're hurt," he said flatly.

Following the direction of his gaze Hermione glanced down at herself. "Oh. Nothing serious. Scrapes and bumps from where I tried to catch you. I couldn't use a charm because I dropped my wand. I panicked," she added, as if he had made some criticism. Her glare dared him to make anything of it.

"So did I," he said, surprising her into a choke of laughter but it was obvious tears weren't far behind.

"I thought you were going to die," she said baldly.

Hating every second of this, Snape fidgeted but he didn't look away from those too-bright eyes.

"I'm sorry," he repeated inanely, wishing she would stop staring at him like that while wondering if she knew just how diaphanous that fabric was with the sun behind it.

"A fat lot of good that is. Don't be sorry, do something to stop it from happening again."

"Unfortunately the m-matter is outside of my control."

"Can't the headmaster do anything?"

"No."

"Has he tried?"

There was something in her tone which made Snape give her a look of surprise.

"Well has he?" she pursued.

"Of c-course." It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open.

Sighing, she came and crouched beside him. "I know you hate the idea, I would too, but won't you use the stretcher - just this once? You can Obliviate me afterwards, if the idea of me knowing bothers you," she offered.

"The Obliviate spell should never be used for something so trivial. It's...an abomination," he growled.

"But aren't you afraid I might say something to Harry - to anyone?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he dismissed.

"You trust me?" she almost squeaked.

He gave her a narrow-eyed look of displeasure but there was no way out of it except to lie, which, in the circumstances, would be counter-productive. "Well it's h-hardly likely you would support Voldemort, is it," he retorted, wondering uneasily what she was looking at now.

"I wasn't talking about him - and you know it. But never mind that. You look terrible," she added, her look of worry intensifying.

"Bring the damn stretcher here," he said, in irritable capitulation. From the beam he received she obviously thought her backward pupil had just done something remarkably clever.

Snape scowled.

Beginning to get his measure, Hermione took no notice.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

 

Back in the hospital wing for the night, because Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at her and diagnosed 'shock', Hermione slept badly, as she had been doing since her last stay there. Again, her dreams were chaotic and threatening, peopled by shadows and the terror that her mind was being stolen away, bite by bite.

She started awake, her heart racing and her mouth dry. It was the fifth time it had happened but the long, dark room was unoccupied, except for herself. Snape had won his bid for freedom and retired to his quarters, despite Madam Pomfrey's muttered threats and warnings. Wishing she was in her own bed in the small room she had been allocated for the holidays so that she wasn't isolated in the Gryffindor dormitory, Hermione checked the time; it would be light soon.

Dressing with speedy economy she looked up to see Madam Pomfrey smiling at her.

"I didn't expect to see you up yet."

"I couldn't sleep," explained Hermione. "I thought I'd go back to my room for a bath and change of clothing, then spend some time in the library."

Madam Pomfrey gave a resigned smile. "Well, if you see Severus there tell him from me that he's an idiot. You certainly look better. Off you go. You did well yesterday."

Already heading down the ward, Hermione paused and turned. "I couldn't do anything," she said with a trace of bitterness.

"That's not what Severus told me."

Pride - just - stopped Hermione from asking what that might have been. She scowled at nothing in particular until she could be certain she had her voice under control.

"It was horrible. He was in so much... And there was nothing I could do. Nothing!" She stopped and sank onto a chair, wearing the crumpled clothes of the day before because she had been too preoccupied to think to send a house elf to collect a change of clothing. "I'd still like to study with you, but I don't know how... I don't know if I could stand seeing that again."

Eyeing her shrewdly, Madam Pomfrey had the sense to say nothing.

"It's not very enterprising of me, is it," said Hermione, finding a smile of sorts.

"I repeat, you did extremely well in a disturbing situation. There's no need to decide anything now. But if you'll take some advice - "

"Of course. Oh. Have I been that bad?" she added wryly .

"Better than Severus. But then that isn't saying much. Take a few days off. Plenty of fresh air, good food and exercise."

Because she knew the advice was kindly meant Hermione swallowed her impulse towards sarcasm, murmured her thanks and left the hospital wing.

 

The silence in the castle became so oppressive that it felt as if it must crush her and Hermione suddenly needed to escape the ghosts and the portraits whose figures waved at you and the unseen eyes of the house elves. Fiercely homesick, she headed out in the sweet, cool air just as the sun touched the horizon.

There was no smoke coming from the chimney of Hagrid's cottage - he must still be in Norway, dragon-watching. Reaching the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she paused and headed away from it towards the sun-burnt meadows that were fringed with trees bowed and bent with age. Finally beginning to relax when she could no longer see the castle, she settled against the trunk of a silver birch. She was just far enough away from the predators of the Forbidden Forest for there to be the sound of bird song and after a while she became aware that there were rabbits feeding on the edge of the meadow. Little by little her eyes closed as tension eased from her body.

 

She shot up into a sitting position, her eyes wide with terror, her wand gripped in a shaking hand, and discovered she wasn't alone.

Snape was crouched beside her, although he instantly got to his feet and retreated a few paces, his hands parting in reassurance.

"I heard you - someone - cry out," he said, when she continued to stare at him.

"What did I say?" she asked, trying to control her inclined-to-shake voice.

"Nothing distinct."

Despite the warmth of the morning, she shivered, wishing she had worn something more substantial than this flimsy, floating dress. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't." Snape saw no need to tell her that her disappearance from the castle had caused some concern. An inconspicuous gesture of his wand sent a message high in the sky, where Ceres Sprout, who was keeping watch on top of the Astronomy Tower, would see it.

Hermione's eyes widened as invisible warmth enfolded her like soft folds of silk. Relaxing into it with gratitude, she murmured her thanks, wondering how Snape had known that this was exactly what she had needed. As she watched he abruptly sank onto the grass, almost covering the fact that he had little option unless he wanted to collapse. She found it difficult to act naturally around him now he was out of what she had always regarded as his natural habitat; she associated him with the chill miasma of the Potions classroom, or the imposing, draughty rooms of the castle.

It was only when Snape gave her an edgy glare that she realised she had been guilty of staring, as if seeing him for the first time. The shadow of his profile stretched across the short grass and was more familiar than her own: scrawny; tall; hooked nose; virtually no-lip mouth and lank, grease-slicked hair than hung in his eyes. It was quite a work of art, not least in remembering that the Appearance Detracting Charm needed to cover his shadow and silhouette. She wondered, without much interest, what he really looked like; it hardly mattered, she suspected she would always see the image with which she had grown up.

"It's obvious you're not sleeping well. How long has this been going on?" Snape asked.

It didn't occur to her to lie. "It started the last time I was in the hospital wing."

He eyed her thoughtfully. "There's a school of thought which says that dreams hold significance in our waking lives."

"There are idiots ready to believe anything," she snapped, before she shot a glance at him. "Do you believe that?"

"Oh, yes," he said flatly.

"Why?"

"Personal experience."

"Oh." She pleated the soft crinkled fabric of her dress between her fingers before letting it spring free. "Shouldn't you being resting?" She viewed him with a critical eye.

"I slept for twelve hours. That's enough for anyone. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," said Hermione, surprised.

"So am I. And I see no virtue in eating outdoors, where all the wildlife in the vicinity believes it has a right to share my meal. Shall we go back?"

He was careful, she noticed, to make it a suggestion rather than a command.

While their walk back to Hogwarts was conducted in silence, it was more comfortable than she would have expected. As they entered the massive front doors a trail of ghosts streamed past, all calling their greetings. The main staircase obligingly moved back into position for them. Professor McGonagall called down a greeting from where she stood on a gallery two floors above them before going about her business. Smiling, Hermione wondered why Hogwarts had ever seemed alien, or disquieting.

"This really is home, isn't it," she murmured, inhaling all the familiar smells of the castle.

"I've always found it so," Snape said unguardedly, before he scowled.

Hermione had the wit not to pursue the point.

"Are there any modern ghosts?" she asked as they went into the Great Hall, which proved to be empty save for themselves.

"It depends on your definition of 'modern'. Of course, Professor Binns is the one you should be asking."

Hermione grinned. "It sounds as if you had him for history, too."

"Regrettably, yes. I caught up on many hours sleep in his lessons. I don't believe they've changed in decades. Not that I should cast stones. I sometimes feel as if I could give the first year Potions speech in my sleep."

"Maybe, but there's not much danger of your students dozing off," said Hermione with feeling.

Snape gave a shark-like grin. "That's the general idea."

Because there were so few of them at Hogwarts at present they had taken to using a smaller, round table rather than the imposing High Table which overlooked the entire hall. Snape drew out a chair for Hermione with the automatic courtesy which was second nature to him, even when he was giving some luckless female student the lecture of her life and a double detention. Once she was seated he moved away, clearly intending to eat elsewhere.

"Won't you join me?" asked Hermione on impulse.

His eyebrows rose.

"I don't have anything to read," she added, straight-faced.

"Nor do I," he said, drawing a small smile from her.

"Good, then I can pick your brains with a clear conscience. I promise not to make a habit of it," she added conscientiously. "I must have driven you mad in the library - I hate interruptions when I'm working myself."

Snape looked puzzled. "What's brought about this change of heart?"

Hot with humiliation, Hermione studied the table top. "Yesterday you said... It's obvious I've been making a nuisance of myself."

"I said - ? I don't remember. Probably because I was hoping to drive you away before I collapsed. Rest assured, Miss Granger, if I tire of our discussions you'll be left in no doubt. Now, what did you want to ask me?"

"I'm writing a paper for Madam Pomfrey on applications for the Adder's Tongue Fern. And I remembered some references you'd made. I hoped we could discuss - " She paused as the food arrived and automatically reached for the coffee pot, just as Snape did for the strong black tea he favoured. Only now, watching the clumsiness of those long-fingered hands, did she appreciate their usual deftness and grace at performing even the most mundane of tasks.

"Yes?" he prompted.

Hermione fiddled with her cup of coffee, then set it down before she could spill it. "I want to apologise properly for my unprovoked attack on you. It was easier to hate you than face... I just wanted you to know it won't happen again."

"Ah, I see I've benefited from the pity vote," sneered Snape, at his most insufferable in the space of a heartbeat.

Hermione resisted the temptation to empty her dish of melon and guava over his head.

"No, just the belated realisation that if we're going to defeat He - Voldemort - we can't afford to waste our energies on trivialities."

Snape sat back in his chair, took a sip of his tea, grimaced, performed a Cooling Charm, and took another sip. "Well done, Miss Granger. A lecture and put-down in one. Excellent. Your apology is accepted. The matter is now closed. At least I trust the matter is closed," he added pointedly.

"I don't understand - " Light dawned. "Oh, you mean I can't tell Harry or Ron that I knocked you out."

"Down," he corrected, an edge to his voice.

She gave an unrepentant grin.

The muscles around his mouth and eyes relaxed as he conceded the point with a faint smile. While fleeting, it was a moment of true communication and they were both aware of it. Shaking his head, he held up his hands in surrender.

"I haven't had nearly enough caffeine to match swords with you this morning." Ignoring the various options for the first course, he served himself with tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs and toast and began to eat with a neat dispatch.

"Then before you drink any more tea, may I ask you something, Professor?"

"I can tell you're going to anyway," he said with resignation, but he looked amused and the charm of the half-smile that escaped his controls so took Hermione aback that she forgot what she had been about to say.

"Miss Granger?"

"Uh, yes. A guava seed went down the wrong way," she lied. "Um, I've been thinking about that 'old injury' of yours."

"My affairs are not your concern."

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"

Snape's displeasure was rarely a secret and this occasion was no different from any other. Tired he might be, but it became obvious that his tongue had lost none of its fluency or ability to wound.

Having finished her fruit, Hermione helped herself to a mushroom omelette, added some tomatoes and began to eat with every appearance of enjoyment. Eventually he wound down to give her a glare in which irritation, frustration and respect were mixed.

"I must have lost my touch," he muttered as he poured himself some more tea.

"Not noticeably," she comforted, wondering when she had developed this death wish.

"Miss Granger, would you mind telling me what - ?"

As she leant forward to reach for the coffee pot some of her unbound hair slipped over her shoulder. The various scents were achingly familiar, as was the memory of the nipple which had scraped his cheek. His gaze dropped to her breasts, then away as soon as he realised what he was doing.

Oh fuck, he thought, as he hardened as fast as a hormonal fifteen year old. He had always been too susceptible to the scent of a woman; though at least when he was teaching he would be wearing his robes. Maybe that was why they had first come into use, he thought vaguely. Bad enough to wake to sticky sheets for the first time in...

Hogsmeade. He'd go to Hogsmeade this afternoon. At least there were no nosy first years to see Professor Snape heading for Madam Min's House of Mirth, although where witches went he had no idea. Somehow he couldn't envisage Poppy making use of whatever the facilities might be. Not a topic he wanted to linger on, particularly not while Miss Granger's sun-freckled breasts were...

"Professor?"

He almost groaned at the warm waves of nubile woman flooding over him but - just - managed to refocus his glazed eyes on Hermione's worried face. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, which did little to help because all he could smell were those wonderful wafts of Hermione Granger.

"Should I fetch someone?" she asked, leaning even closer. Freckles gave way to skin as white and tender as -

"No," he mumbled, his mouth feeling full of tongue; regrettably it was his own. She had beautiful skin and there was far too much of it on display for his peace of mind. If Minerva ever discovered he was getting a hard on for one of her treasured students, castration would seem a mercy when compared to what she would do to him. And rightly so. Minerva wasn't alone in guarding her students. None of them would tolerate a member of staff abusing their position of trust. He wasn't a pervert, just...horny, he admitted, caught between pride, relief and chagrin. And he needed to get a grip. Poor choice of word, he conceded, fidgeting slightly where he sat. The problem was, he knew exactly what he needed and as he wasn't going to get it until he could escape to Hogsmeade, he needed to do something to control the problem.

He exhaled softly as he regained control of his own body with the aid of a very carefully controlled Deflating Charm. He opened his eyes to find Hermione, her eyes huge with concern, staring at him.

"Find another interest in life, Miss Granger. I'm fine. Finish your breakfast and leave me to enjoy mine in peace."

Only she hadn't been expecting that and the hurt on her face was that of a child slapped for a crime it didn't understand. Experiencing a pang of regret despite himself, Snape sighed and tried to make amends.

"The Adder's Tongue Fern... What did you want to discuss?" It was a measure of the damage he had inflicted that it took several more questions to elicit more than a monosyllable from her but eventually, coaxed out by the red herring he trailed for her, she lent her elbows on the table as she engaged fully in the discussion.

 

Four hours later the table was littered with books and parchments, their minds wholly focussed on the scope of their discussion which, inevitably, had broadened.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made them look up to see Madam Pomfrey glaring at them.

"So much for resting in your room," she said to Snape. "I expected better of you, Miss Granger."

"Poppy, I'm - " Snape rose to his feet.

"Grey, that's what you are. As you should have noticed, Miss Granger. Severus, you need to rest. Either you go by stretcher or - Oh, Remus. Good afternoon. Would you do me a favour and escort Severus back to his quarters?"

"Of course. If you think he'll come with me," said Lupin, only half-joking.

"In case anyone's forgotten I am still here and - " His legs folding under him, Snape sat back down faster than he had intended.

 

Having returned to the library all the books and parchments Snape had summoned without ever leaving his chair, Hermione remained there, unaware of the passage of time as she began a field of research of her own. She looked up as Madam Pomfrey approached the table at which she sat.

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked, feeling obscurely guilty.

"Just exhausted."

"He didn't say anything," justified Hermione, still wondering what that final reference he had been about to give her might have been.

"And you're surprised because?" said Madam Pomfrey astringently, before she sighed and gave a reluctant smile. "I don't know why I'm blaming you, child. Give Severus an interesting argument and you could saw his leg off without him noticing. Not that you're much better. Still, at least you're both eating."

"He's had another attack, hasn't he," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Nothing like as bad as yesterday. He's been asleep for several hours already. Which is the best thing for him right now."

"None of the pain-relieving spells I tried yesterday worked."

Madam Pomfrey sat beside her. "Don't look so tragic. It wasn't your fault. None of the pain-relieving spells would have worked, whoever tried to administer them. It's yet another side-effect of Cruciatus - that there should be no relief. I'd give a lot to meet the bastard who invented it," she said in a different tone, an unfamiliar light in her eyes.

Hermione hardly heard her. Cruciatus... One of the Unforgivables. Harry had tried to describe what it had felt like once but had shivered, stopped and refused to talk about it again.

"It didn't affect Harry this way," she said.

"Harry only received one short burst. Severus has suffered... Even he's lost count."

Hermione went cold with dread. "Neville's parents went insane under Cruciatus." The thought of that mind, whose complexity she was only now beginning to guess at, being destroyed, made her feel - Damn. Like she didn't have enough people to worry about.

"Yes." Madam Pomfrey looked sombre. "But no one knows how long they suffered. The one blessing in all this is that Severus only experiences short bursts. Although how many more he can sustain before - Mercy, I shouldn't be talking about this with you," she muttered, looking worried.

"I won't tell anyone," said Hermione. "He's working for Professor Dumbledore, isn't he?" She tried and failed to identify Madam Pomfrey's expression.

"Child, I really should - "

"You think I would tell anyone? I just hope whatever he's doing is worth putting him through this."

"So do I," said Madam Pomfrey bleakly, torn between what she knew she should do and her instinct. She loathed Obliviate, regarding it as something that was used too often with too little reason. Knowing Snape shared her view she decided to speak to him before referring the matter to Dumbledore.

"I've done some reading on the Unforgivables, given that Harry is probably going to face them again," said Hermione.

"Then you probably know as much as I do. There's very little written about them. I imagine one of the people who knows most about them is Severus and his knowledge has been hard-won. But this isn't a matter that should be discussed, even amongst ourselves. It puts Severus' life at risk, and much else besides."

"You can trust me," said Hermione, trying to ignore the questions seething in her mind.

"My dear, if that had been in question you wouldn't be staying here for the summer," said Madam Pomfrey dryly.

Hermione blinked. "I never thought of that," she admitted.

"We could tell. Right, as you've done all this research on Cruciatus you may as well fill me in on your findings. Who knows, you might have found a clue to defeating it."

***

 

Keeping vigil at Snape's bedside and noting the lines of tension which even sleep could not erase, Dumbledore tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered why anyone would want children of their own; it was hard enough worrying about those belonging to other people.

Snape twitched in his sleep, an incoherent mumble escaping him. Leaning forward, Dumbledore placed his hand on the top of Snape's head, cradling his skull but it was little enough that he could offer. Even phoenix tears were ineffectual in combatting the effects of Cruciatus. But he wasn't entirely without power. He focussed his concentration, his lips moving silently, his unblinking gaze remaining on the younger man. After a while Snape relaxed and slid into a deeper, healing sleep.

Sitting back, bleached with fatigue, Dumbledore's expression was grim. Poppy had been explicit about Severus' chances of surviving much more of this. No one had gained much benefit from the holidays so far and the days were slipping away too fast. They needed more time: both to heal, and to plan.

And they needed a miracle, of course. Although that might take longer to arrange.

 

***

 

Lingering over his second pot of tea, Dumbledore abandoned his pretence of eating as the last member of staff wandered off to attend to their various duties, looking tired before they even started work. Strengthening the wards which protected the castle and its grounds was debilitating at the best of times and these were anything but that. Spirits were low, reserves of strength at rock bottom, and all he had to offer was more platitudes.

"Headmaster?"

He refocused to see Hermione Granger's earnest young face in front of him.

"Good morning, my dear."

"Are you all right, headmaster? Only you look..." Old. Very, very old. And frail. As if... "Is everyone - thing - all right?"

"Professor Snape has spent the last sixteen hours in a healing sleep, everyone else is well and everything is fine. And if it isn't it soon will be. Madam Pomfrey mentioned that you wanted to see me about something? We're quite private here. Yes? Then what can I do for you?"

Hermione forgot her faint feeling of unease and sat beside him, marvelling at the serenity he radiated. It was wonderfully cheering, even if she didn't actually believe it.

"It's about what I need to do in the Muggle world. I won't legally be an adult until September. I need to go back to my parents' house, sort their belongings, dispose of what I don't need, sell the house... I wondered if I might bring my possessions to Hogwarts, until I have a home of my own again?"

"Of course. The one thing the castle has plenty of is space. You'll need your own set of chambers for the holidays. I'll speak to Minerva."

"Thank you. I might also need someone I can produce to the Muggle authorities as my legal guardian."

"The Weasleys have offered, I know, but we dare not let Arthur lose amongst Muggles. Besides, I would imagine he and Molly are probably too close a reminder of your parents for you to be comfortable with that solution."

Hermione nodded, grateful she didn't have to explain.

"As I thought. Now, the formalities must be observed in both worlds. Fortunately for us, I know just the man. He has acted on my behalf several times already. There's a new first year arriving in September - Grania Frayne. Her mother, Samantha, is a witch, her father, Peter is a Muggle lawyer who has learnt his way around a wizards' court. An excellent man. If he meets with your approval I'll approach him on your behalf."

"Thank you, Headmaster. I'd like everything arranged before term starts. Although there isn't much time."

"There should be enough," said Dumbledore placidly. "Now, with regard to your guardian. There are specific regulations laid down for young wizards and witches. You'll need a guardian until you leave Hogwarts - whatever your age. So you'll need someone who will be acceptable in both worlds, who is respected and powerful in this one - and who is free to perform the task. Which, I'm afraid, prevents Severus, Minerva or myself from assuming that role. Sirius is a wanted man and Remus is a prisoner to the moon. Neither Hagrid, Ceres nor March would, I fear, convince a Muggle for long and Polyjuice really should be reserved for times of utmost need. Which leaves Poppy Pomfrey."

"She would be perfect," said Hermione with satisfaction. "If she wouldn't mind."

"She'll be honoured. I should add that every one of the staff has indicated their willingness to do anything they can to assist you. For instance, Severus may be a more suitable escort into the Muggle world. Or when you wish to visit Diagon Alley. He's accustomed to danger."

"Teaching first year Potions is excellent training," agreed a familiar voice from behind them.

"Severus! This is delightful. And Poppy. How fortuitous," said Dumbledore, beaming with pleasure. "Severus, you look well."

"I feel it, thank you,," he said, drawing out a chair for Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione could believe it. Snape was exuding so much vitality she almost expected to see sparks. There was the crispness of a frosty morning, the gleam of a sharply honed knife - and something else she wasn't sure how to describe, except that it vitalised her just by being in his presence.

"Excellent. Sit, eat. We - Miss Granger and I - have a favour to ask of the pair of you."

"A cue to flee if ever I heard one," said Snape.

Dumbledore wasted no time explaining what he proposed.

"I would be honoured," said Madam Pomfrey, patting Hermione's arm. "Thank you for asking me."

"It should be me thanking you."

"Not according to custom. I'll tell you more later of my obligations to you, and of your rights. Now, about your parents' house. Severus should escort you there, I think."

"I'm at your service, Miss Granger," he said politely.

Glancing at him, Hermione was surprised to realise he meant it.

"I k-know I should get it over with but... Not yet," she said with a trace of desperation. She couldn't imagine her old home without her parents there. And with their clothes and personal belongings to be sorted through. The thought was unbearable.

"Whenever you wish," said Snape.

"Poppy, with your consent we'll make the contract now," said Dumbledore. "Severus, are you willing to stand signatory?"

"Honoured, headmaster."

"Contract?" said Hermione vaguely, having been concentrating on not crying - again.

"The spell that forms the contract between Poppy and yourself is unbreakable by anyone - even Voldemort himself. Magical contracts are never lightly undertaken, and to my knowledge none has ever been dishonoured. However, as signatory, Severus undertakes to protect you in the event of Poppy's default. Is that agreeable to you?"

Overwhelmed by what she seemed to have got herself into, Hermione nodded.

"Of course, should the parties change their minds the contract is simple enough to end, so long as consent is freely given."

"Muggles could do with them," said Hermione with feeling.

Dumbledore gave her a faint smile. "No doubt. Then we'll begin."

Hastily finishing her piece of toast, Madam Pomfrey took Hermione's hand in a marmalade- sticky grasp.

Dumbledore murmured a simple phrase, his wand directed first at Hermione, then at Madam Pomfrey, and finally at Snape, who placed his own hands around theirs where they were linked. His clasp was light, his skin warm and dry, his fingernails clean and trimmed.

"And so shall it be," Hermione repeated, last of all. And the contract was complete.

Snape's hands slid from hers.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, the glass of his spectacles catching the light.

"Tea," said Madam Pomfrey decidedly. "That's what we need. More tea. Severus Snape, do you still drink that appalling muck? No wonder your teeth are so yellow."

"I thought that was due to the Appearance Detracting Charm," said Hermione without thinking.

There was a short silence around the table.

"You spotted it then," said Dumbledore. "I thought you must have."

"I was just wondering why it was necessary," said Hermione, in the guileless tone which had always worked on her father.

Snape gave her a look of narrow-eyed disdain.

Feeling a hot colour run up over her face, Hermione concentrated on pouring herself some more coffee.

"Until Severus was taken on staff the average age of male Professors was ninety three," said Madam Pomfrey, returning to her toast and marmalade.

Hermione's expression indicated that Snape was wearing well. Affronted, he choked.

"I'm thirty-eight," he said coldly, vanity blinding him to her trap until it was too late.

"Exactly," said Madam Pomfrey, "and training young witches and wizards is hazardous enough without the complication of any of them developing undesirable crushes."

Out for revenge, Hermione directed a speculative look at Snape.

"Don't even think it, Miss Granger," he advised her, that rich voice sliding over her senses like silk, but the amused gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

"Given that Hermione knows, there's little point you maintaining the charm for the rest of the holidays," said Madam Pomfrey practically.

"I suppose there isn't," agreed Snape. His cup of tea still in one hand, he murmured "Accio," and drew his empty hand down past his face.

Even though she knew it was about to happen Hermione still gasped when Snape's familiar features blurred into a new face - alike and yet very different.

The hair was still the matt black of a crow's wing but it looked soft as sable, if unmanageable, and was fastened back in an untidy plait secured by a piece of string. The skin was olive rather than sallow, the teeth off-white, but crooked, the mouth generous, rather than a slit. The nose was still large, with pretensions to aquiline, and the flattened, bumpy bridge looked as if it might have been broken more than once. Rather than scrawny he was merely thin, but with a muscle tone inconceivable in the man she was familiar with. Only the eyes were unchanged; almond-shaped and black as an abyss, although she didn't remember noticing those ridiculously long eyelashes before.

"Professor Snape," she said, wondering if it was her imagination or if he really was fidgeting.

"Miss Granger."

To her relief his voice was the same.

"You didn't use your wand to do that," she said, to cover her confusion.

"I think I already knew that," he said unhelpfully.

"You're aware of the differing level of skills amongst individuals," said Madam Pomfrey. "Severus is a powerful wizard. And he's always been disdainful of what he calls 'wand waving'. Just never let him try to give your first aid. You'll end up with worse injuries than you started with - unless he's having a rare good day."

"So that's why you've always sent us up to Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione said, still trying to accustom herself to this familiar stranger. She wasn't sure if she liked the change or not and smothered a grin. She never imagined the day would come when she would be pining for Snape.

"That and to help her keep her hand in," said Snape, as he poured himself some more cold, stewed tea.

"As for working without a wand, you may find it suits you for some charms. You've several years in which to hone your skills. Don't be in such a hurry," said Dumbledore.

Snape snorted. "You might as well tell water to flow backwards. What now?" he added with resignation, when he discovered Hermione was still staring at him with all the enthusiasm of someone who'd just seen a mountain troll.

"I was just wondering why you bother with the Appearance Detracting Charm?" she said with a tactlessness worthy of Sirius Black.

Madam Pomfrey spluttered into her Earl Grey tea.


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

 

Snape's day was full of small humiliations as he experienced all the difficulties of a cerebral man finding himself at the mercy of his hormones, in a way he hadn't been since he was thirteen. The situation was exacerbated by his colleagues' enjoyment of Miss Granger's 'wit'. Eventually he conceded defeat and escaped to his quarters. He supposed that the speed and frequency of his body's responses to the most innocent stimulation was only to be expected after so many years impotence but it made it no easier to deal with. If this euphoric, hormonal rush didn't wear off soon he would be in danger of developing a nervous tic; it seemed advisable to take preventive measures. While he had never had occasion to visit Madam Min's, for obvious reasons, it seemed to offer the solution to his problem.

But, damn, Hermione had smelt wonderful.

Oh, not again.

He eyed his right hand ruefully. There wasn't a trace of hair on the palm which, he supposed, was something to be grateful for.

 

Whistling under his breath and almost in tune, Snape showered and changed before plaiting his inclined-to-fluff-out hair. There. That was about as good as it got. Idly thumbing his smooth chin and grateful that a simple charm applied morning and night dispensed with the tedious need to shave, he wandered back into the steamy bathroom and used the back of his hand to smear condensation from the rarely used mirror.

He stared into the glass, reacquainting himself with his own face rather than the one which belonged to 'Snape-the-bastard', although he had long suspected that the two had merged into one, to the detriment of both. He tried, and failed, to remember the last time he had looked himself in the eye. It was easier than he had expected.

Without being aware of it, he rubbed his forearm before unfastening the cuff of his shirt to check the mark wasn't engraved on the pale, blue-veined flesh. No Dark Mark, no pain and a body burgeoning with health. Impatient with the damp-smeared glass, he dried it off and improved the lighting with a flamboyant flick of his fingers before peering into the mirror again.

There were more lines on his face than he remembered, and you could drive a Bludger down the frown line above his nose but... It was true no one would ever call him handsome but he wasn't that bad, surely?

Realising he was worrying over the opinion of a chit of a witch, he scowled and stalked out of the room, although as the heavy door refused to slam his exit wasn't as satisfying as it might have been.

"... While I enjoy being thanked as much as the next witch, I can't take the credit for this. I have no idea why you should be free of pain and virtually glowing with health. It's a treat to see you looking like your old self." Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and automatically began to take some readings.

"I'm far from complaining just... What if it suddenly wears off while I'm - ?" Snape stopped. There was no need to impose his maudlin concerns on other people.

"From all these readings there's nothing to indicate that you need worry on that score," said Madam Pomfrey, at her most matter of fact. This was more than she had ever dared hope for. The relief that he wasn't going to die while she could do nothing but watch almost overset her hard-won detachment; years of experience came to her rescue.

Prowling up and down the ward with more energy than he had displayed for months, Snape gave the impression that if he had a tail it would be lashing.

"Which still doesn't explain why I feel... It's as if I never suffered from Cruciatus." Frowning, he slowed to a halt. "Did Fawkes - ?"

"We tried phoenix tears in the first month, to no avail. Nothing worked," she said with renewed bitterness.

"No. It wasn't your fault," he added awkwardly.

She glared at him. "Well it felt that way to me!"

Snape sank onto the edge of a bed and gave her a considering look. "I feel the same way each time I lose a Slytherin to the Dark Lord," he offered, repaying his debt in the only way he knew.

The open affection in her smile made him fidget.

"I suppose I couldn't run a few more tests?" Madam Pomfrey asked, without much expectation that he would agree.

To her surprise he allowed her take all the readings she wanted, although he balked at donating some of the more intimate samples that she requested.

"Not so much as an ingrown toe-nail," she said with satisfaction. "But I have no explanation."

"Which gives me a respite until I'm summoned again," said Snape, feeling the chill clear to his spine as he contemplated Voldemort's probable reaction to finding him in such rude health.

Dumbledore looked up with a smile as Snape came into his study. "Ah, Severus. Still not wearing the Appearance Detracting Charm, I see," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Snape looked resigned. "Minerva has already twitted me about that three times. I can hardly wait until Black hears about Miss Granger's comments." Closing the study door he took his first proper look at Dumbledore; at breakfast he had been so preoccupied with his own well-being that he wouldn't have noticed if a Hippogriff had sat next to him.

"You look dreadful." Crossing the room, he sank down onto the low table in front of the headmaster.

"Ask Poppy to have a word with you about your bedside manner." Dumbledore sounded amused.

Snape remained silent, absorbing the horrifying changes in the headmaster's appearance in the last twenty four hours. He looked every one of his one hundred and fifty six years and terrifyingly frail. The flesh of his face sat too close to the bone for the comfort of anyone looking at it and the tissue paper skin was bleached of colour. Only his eyes were the same.

"Albus," he said in an agonised whisper. The realisation sank home like a shard of glass.

"I shall do very well," dismissed Dumbledore.

"I know you came to visit me last night. And that when I awoke this morning I felt...restored. What charm did you use?" Snape stared up at the man who had kept him sane all these years, his expression unguarded, as it so rarely was.

"I've never been particularly good at charms. March is the person you should speak to about them. Although Sirius has a certain talent for the - "

"Albus," Snape repeated, with less patience on this occasion.

Dumbledore touched him lightly on the cheek with his finger. "That scowl has never intimidated me yet so I don't know why you think today will be any different. It was less a charm than a..." He shrugged. "What does it matter? It worked. Better, I confess, than I dared hope. While I'm not sure if I could repeat it, it was necessary. You need this respite. So do we. Watching what Voldemort has been doing to you has been...difficult for all of us. My only regret is that it didn't occur to me to act before."

The frown lines on Snape's face deepened as he shook his head. He ran his hand back over his hair in a rare gesture of helplessness.

"I... You must never attempt this again. Least of all for me. You could have killed yourself!" His voice had the sound of silk ripping.

"Nonsense." Dumbledore injected some necessary briskness into his voice. "I'm a little tired, that's all."

"You're almost translucent!" protested Snape.

"Then some cucumber sandwiches and buttered crumpets should do me the world of good. Stop worrying, child. What are you still doing here? Go to Hogsmeade. Give Min my regards."

"Is there anything you don't know?" asked Snape with resignation, refusing to feel embarrassed. He was thirty eight, not fifteen, and answerable only to himself in such matters. He - just - stopped himself from shuffling his feet.

"Far too many things, I'm sorry to say. Now, go away. Have a good evening and a very pleasant night."

The combination of mischief and anticipation in Snape's grin took years from his age. "I intend to." He rose to his full height in one smoothly coordinated movement, his smile fading as he looked at the seated man. A moment later he was kneeling in front of him, one hand resting on Dumbledore's arm.

"Reverse the process, Albus. I can stay the course. I won't let you down again." It was, he thought, ridiculous that a man so old should have such vivid eyes. He sustained their gaze without difficulty.

"For someone so intelligent you can be such a fool," said Dumbledore, but the obvious affection in his voice brought a faint flush of colour into Snape's face. "Although I still maintain you weren't smacked enough as a child," he added, which was why Snape was smiling again when he left Hogwarts a short time later.

***

 

"Good morning, Hermione," said Professor Sprout, raising her tea cup in greeting. "Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

"I haven't had a chance to notice yet," mumbled Hermione, reaching for the coffee pot before she had even sat down. She was close to the stage where she would kill for an uninterrupted night's sleep, free from nightmares of faceless figures and nerve-shattering cries in the darkness.

"Someone got out of the bed on the wrong side this morning," muttered Flitwick, in a barely audible aside.

"Probably because it was her own," said Professor McGonagall, tart as a lemon.

"Minerva," protested Professor Sprout, laughing. "You don't think - ?"

"No. At least I hope not, for Severus' sake," Professor McGonagall added, a grim set to her thin mouth.

"He wouldn't," said Flitwick with conviction. "And you know it. Although I confess it can be irritating when Slytherins display the odd moral compunction."

"Speaking of which, where is Severus?" inquired Professor Sprout, scattering raspberry juice with every movement of her spoon.

Flitwick relieved her of it. "Hogsmeade."

"At this hour? Most of the shops won't even be open."

"He left yesterday evening. To visit Madam Min's House of Mirth," added Flitwick.

"Oh... Splendid," said Professor Sprout with decision. "He'll have a wonderful time."

Professor McGonagall looked shocked. "Ceres! Not that I object to Severus... It's relief to see him so... But I am surprised that you, of all people, should approve of witches permitting themselves to be used as mere - "

"You've never visited Min's, have you," interrupted Professor Sprout placidly. "I really think you should. While it's been a few months since March and I - "

"You and March!" gasped Professor McGonagall. "But you... Together? With strangers?"

Professor Sprout gave a patient sigh. "Minerva, it's a House of Mirth. And while sex is obviously one of the more joyful pastimes available to like-minded people, it is only one of them. As for - what was it you said? - 'witches being used' - that's far from the truth. First, all are welcome at Min's, witch, wizard and those of more mixed parentage. And the only things for sale in that house are food, drink and accommodation. Everything else is freely given - including good conversation, laughter, art, music, seminars... Some of the finest minds end up at Min's, if only for a night or two. You must come with March and I. As our guest. One of the most frequent attendees, Phryne, is a most interesting witch. An architect and a fine scholar of wizard and witch behaviour. She's also one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. I believe she had a Veela grandmother. She and Severus have been corresponding for some time, so I imagine they'll have plenty to - um - talk about."

Having absorbed enough caffeine to be more aware of the world, Hermione sat stony-faced, absorbing the knowledge that, far from remembering the promises he had made to help her, Snape was off doing who knew what to - with - this Phryne. Which was a ridiculous name to give anyone, no matter how beautiful they might be.

"Ah, post," said Flitwick with pleasure as owl after owl flew in to deposit packages beside him.

Conversation around the table trickled to a standstill as everyone concentrated on reading their mail. Having run out of money in her Gringotts account Hermione had been unable to do any mail-owl shopping, and so she had only letters. She skimmed them without much interest. Lavender was in love again - yawn. Harry was bored and miserable and Ron was still besotted with the Chudley Cannons.

Her expression brightened when she saw Viktor's quill writing. Even he couldn't write Quidditch non-stop, surely. Re-reading his letter for the third time, and disconcerted that it should matter so little beyond the sting of rejection, Hermione was oblivious to the concern being directed her way. Eventually she realised that Professor McGonagall was trying to attract her attention.

"The marmalade? Certainly."

Not pausing to wonder why Professor McGonagall hadn't used magic Hermione handed her the pot and went back to staring at the curled parchment. Viktor had been her first - her only - boyfriend and while she couldn't pretend it had been the most satisfactory relationship in the world she hadn't been ready to let go yet. Now she had nothing.

An irritable sound made her look down in time to see Crookshanks float up onto the empty chair beside her. He batted her arm with his head, pushed the parchment aside and spread his considerable bulk between the chair and her lap.

"I hope you're not psychic," muttered Hermione, giving him a look of suspicion.

"I beg your pardon?" said Flitwick, who sat on her other side.

"Nothing, Professor. I was just talking to Crookshanks," she replied, absently scratching an orange ear as Crookshanks rubbed his cheek against the heel of her hand.

It was silly to be like this about it. It wasn't as if she and Viktor had ever had much in common - apart from sex. He wasn't much of a conversationist and his own interests in life were Quidditch and sex - and she was pretty sure that, if pushed, Quidditch would come first. There again, it probably would for Harry and Ron. Next time round she would avoid the sports mad. Maybe she could even find someone who voluntarily read a book.

"I trust that Messrs Potter and Weasley are both enjoying the holidays," said Flitwick.

Recognising the concern and kindness of those around the table Hermione felt a wave of affection for them.

"It isn't from them, it's from Viktor Krum. A 'Dear Hermione' letter," she added, proud of the lightness of her tone.

"Oh, my dear," said Professor Sprout, while Flitwick just looked puzzled.

"I'm afraid I don't - " he began.

"'Dear' insert name of recipient," said Professor McGonagall briskly, "'while I will always hold you in the greatest respect...' Krum has ended his relationship with Hermione. You aren't the only witch to have received one of those, my dear. But I am sorry. I can still remember the smart of those I received. You'll discover wizards are rarely willing to tackle difficult emotional issues face to face. I have to admit, much as I admire his skill on the field, I found Mr Krum dreadfully dull once he stopped talking about Quidditch. I trust there were compensations."

"Only one," said Hermione. "And that could have used some practice. Uh - " Her hand went to her mouth as she realised what she had let slip and she found herself laughing instead of feeling sorry for herself.

"That's better, dear," said Professor Sprout, pouring her some more coffee. "There. While it would undoubtedly have been more satisfying for you to have been the letter writer, you're left with the moral high ground. And, more importantly, you're free to decide who to honour with your company next term. I'd steer clear of dark and brooding. They're dreadfully high maintenance."

Weak with disbelief, Hermione sat in fascinated silence while her professors reminisced and gave her advice on her love life; what was more disconcerting was how knowledgeable they all were about the romantic entanglements of their students.

"Don't you find it difficult at times?" she asked Flitwick.

He beamed at her, then nodded. "Very. But my dear Ceres gives me the woman's perspective. And there's always Severus to help with the preoccupations of the human male, although he assures me that at Hogwarts sex and Quidditch pretty much covers it."

She could hear Snape saying it, too. Her eyes almost crossed as she tried not to laugh at the idea of Snape giving advice to the love-lorn, until it occurred to her that was a prejudice carried forward from her experience of him in the classroom. Although the idea of the greasy git of the classroom him interesting himself in her sex life was...

She fidgeted in her chair. Crookshanks grumbled and let her feel his claws.

"So what are your plans for today?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Well, I had... Nothing," said Hermione.

Which was why she spent the entire day out harvesting seed heads. Feeling drugged with the sun she returned to Hogwarts to find that Peter Frayne, the Muggle lawyer the headmaster had recommended, was waiting to see her. He was a plain and exceedingly kind man, with an air of competence which was immediately reassuring. Hermione arranged to visit her parents' house within a day or so to remove those belongings she wanted to keep - the agents he appointed would deal with everything else on her behalf. While she was dreading that visit, she tried to convince herself that it was a relief to have come to a decision.

Taking one look at Hermione's expression Madam Pomfrey took her off for tea and kept her busy all evening, so she didn't have the chance to brood.

***

 

Snape flew back to Hogwarts just as it was getting light, landing with an exuberant loop-the-loop manoeuvre he hadn't employed since he passed the Ministry's Quidditch refereeing exams. They had been worth all the hard work just to enjoy the expression on Minerva's face when she had realised her precious Gryffindors were at his mercy. Though since the arrival of Potter, their star Seeker, refereeing on a regular basis had been out of the question. Unbiased decisions weren't an option for him at present - presuming he wanted to make them in the first place.

His crumpled jacket slung over one shoulder, he sauntered down to the edge of the lake, causing panic amongst the toads which lived in the shelter of the reeds. A startled heron launched itself clumsily into the air, the creak of its wings sounding loud in the silence. He watched it go, enjoying a sense of well-being he hadn't experienced since...

Never, he conceded. And only part of it was thanks to his hours spent with a witch who was a quarter Veela.

He gave a contented stretch before glancing up as he became aware he was under surveillance. He relaxed when he saw Dumbledore approaching. He looked a little tired but that terrifying air of fragility was gone.

"Good morning, Severus."

"You're all right," exclaimed Snape, eschewing the usual civilities.

"Thank Fawkes," corrected Dumbledore, smiling.

"Oh, I do," said Snape, before he followed the direction of Dumbledore's gaze. "What's Fawkes doing up on the battlements?"

"I reminded him that he was capable of real flying," admitted Dumbledore, looking rueful. "He got up there - just - but seems to be in some difficulty about coming down again. I suppose you wouldn't like to go and - Ah, no need. I think he's seen you," he added as Fawkes launched himself into the air with a great deal of flapping of his wings. His large, ugly feet tucked up under his plump belly, his flight feathers strained wide as he struggled to ride what little breeze there was; the long golden tail streamed out behind him, the delicate, decorative feathers undulating in the down draught as he made his relentless descent - obviously faster than he intended, or was prudent.

"That damn bird's fallen on its head once too often," said Snape irritably. "Fawkes is to flying what I am to patience." But he was watching the phoenix through narrowed, unblinking eyes and his lips began to move silently.

Dumbledore smiled to himself as Fawkes, resisting all attempts to steer him away, unerringly headed for Snape, making a more or less graceful landing on the arm Snape outstretched for him at the last moment. There was a short breathless pause on Fawkes' part before he shook himself and sidled up to Snape's shoulder, where he lovingly began to groom Snape's hair.

Snape winced, then reached up to rub the top of Fawkes' head, rapidly reducing the phoenix to a state of ecstasy so great that he lost his balance and fell onto the grass with an ungainly thump.

Shaking himself with immense dignity, Fawkes glared at Snape before perching on Dumbledore's shoulder; pointedly turning his back on Snape, he started to preen his gorgeous tail feathers.

Dumbledore shook his head in amusement. "You're the only wizard I know who would risk teasing a phoenix."

"Nonsense," dismissed Snape briskly. "Fawkes and I understand one another well enough. He knows I owe him a debt I can never repay."

Fawkes swivelled his head around one hundred and eighty degrees until he was staring at Snape. For a few seconds the sound of phoenix song filled the air then, without ceremony, Fawkes vanished with a small pop.

Shivering in reaction to the exquisite song Snape slid his hands into the pockets of his black trousers. "That damn bird gets his revenge every time."

"You're too susceptible to beauty."

Snape cocked his head. "Headmaster?"

"Stop searching for hidden meanings. I meant only what I said."

"That would be a first. It's a great relief to see you looking so... You look well," Snape added with satisfaction.

"I feel it." Dumbledore tucked his arm into Snape's as they strolled at a snail's pace back to Hogwarts. "It seems that while Fawkes cannot act directly to counter the Cruciatus administered to you, there was no impediment to him being able to help me. Which means - "

"Nothing," interrupted Snape. "That solution isn't an option. I won't permit it."

"Let's not argue this fine morning. And please, stop blaming yourself. I haven't seen you look this guilty since I found you with that pretty blonde girl in her dormitory. What was her name again - Monica?"

"Melisande," said Snape.

"Ah, yes. She giggled a lot, as I recall."

"All the time," confirmed Snape pensively.

"All the - ?"

"All."

"Then why did you - ?"

"I was sixteen and distracted by her - " Snape's hands moved in a descriptive arc.

"I doubt if there was a male member of staff who failed to notice those. May I ask you a personal question?" continued Dumbledore, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Snape viewed the sight with grave mistrust but made no objection. "You don't usually bother to ask permission."

"It is very personal."

"Because that will be such a novelty."

"The reason I have to ask so many questions is because you never volunteer anything," said Dumbledore with a trace of asperity.

"No, Headmaster."

Accustomed to Snape's sense of humour, Dumbledore gave him a brooding look before asking, "How many of your year did you have sex with?"

Caught unawares, Snape tripped over his own feet and would have fallen but for Dumbledore's grip on his arm.

"I shouldn't have asked," said Dumbledore, pinned by Snape's disconcertingly direct gaze.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to ask whatever it is that you really want to know?"

"Probably, but this is more entertaining. You don't have to tell me."

"I think I already knew that. May I ask why you want to know after all this time?"

"Vulgar curiosity," said Dumbledore mildly. "According to rumour you were a candidate for satyriasis."

Snape looked bored. "The truth was more mundane."

"I had a feeling it might be." Dumbledore waited expectantly.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "You want specifics? You weren't joking about vulgar curiosity, were you. Um, Melisande Barnes, Despina Evangelides. Oh, her twin Maria. Jeremy Wean - "

"We've a Buttercup Wean joining us this autumn."

"Buttercup?" Snape's grin knocked twenty years from his age. "Ah. He's keeping his promise to send me - Never mind. Private joke that I have no intention of explaining. Except to say that Jeremy was very...educational."

Dumbledore looked pained and wondered how he could have forgotten that Severus always found a way to get his revenge.

"You did ask," Snape pointed out blandly. "Nimue Smith. Sirius Black - "

Dumbledore's head rose and he visibly swallowed a number of questions.

"Just so. Carol Marksby, Freyja Hooch - Ah, no. They were both in the seventh year."

"It's a wonder you got any work done," said Dumbledore acidly.

"'Probitas laudatur et alget'."

"Yes, you have a point. What about Lily Evans?"

"Lily? Did we fool the staff, too?" Snape looked sardonically amused. "So that's what this has been in aid of. Don't tell me - you think the reason I don't like Harry is because he's the son I never had. Mercifully no one could ever mistake the brat for mine."

"Your name was linked with Lily's in a most pointed - "

"To irritate James. Our 'affair' was a ploy to get his attention. Lily had been in love with him for months - only he was too busy being noble to notice. I had become something of a status symbol amongst some of the students by then - an irony which didn't escape me - so Lily asked me to feign an interest in her. She had Potter eating out of her hand within a week, while I had a broken nose."

"Did she explain to James?"

"If she did, it wasn't until they left Hogwarts. After my 'affair' with Lily, Potter's Gryffindor nobility tended to slip when he was around me." Snape's satisfaction was undiminished despite the passage of time.

"Except for when James - ?"

"Except for then," agreed Snape, his mouth thinning, warmth vanishing from his face.

"Why did you agree to the charade with Lily?" asked Dumbledore, hastily retreating from such contentious waters.

"To irritate Potter, of course." Correctly interpreting Dumbledore's expression, Snape looked amused. "No, I haven't been harbouring a passion for Lily all these years. She was wasted in Gryffindor... I liked her very much. She made me laugh. But open friendship with a Gryffindor wasn't possible, even in those days."

"So you remained friends in secret?"

"Lily had a talent for seeing straight to the heart of a matter. Unlike her son. Her sense of humour seems to have by-passed Harry, too. He's promising to be every bit as pompous as his interfering father."

"You never have given Harry much credit," said Dumbledore mildly.

"I wasn't aware I'd given him any."

"May I ask one more question? This one isn't vulgar," Dumbledore added, looking apologetic.

"Yes," sighed Snape.

"Why do you dislike - appear to dislike - Harry so much?"

"Because I'm Snape-the-bastard," he said tiredly. "What other reason could there be?"

Sometimes, as he crawled in the dirt at Voldemort's feet, or was racked by Cruciatus, his body voiding itself as he screamed himself raw, he reminded himself that all this was to keep from harm a cocky little git with Lily's eyes and James' priggish morals. A judgmental brat who had taken one look at him that first evening and decided to hate him. Oddly enough, he hadn't been expecting that response. It had stung. Still did, he admitted to himself, sardonically amused by his own neediness.

Tucking his arm a little tighter in Snape's, Dumbledore had the wisdom not to pursue the point, although he took care to select a path that took the long way round, reluctant to let Snape go just yet.

"What now?" asked Snape, undeceived.

Dumbledore smiled despite himself. "You know me too well," he said ruefully.

"I'm glad you think so."

"Oh, did Ceres' message get to you in time?" Dumbledore asked artfully.

Snape gave a snort of what might have been laughter. "Yes, for which I'm most grateful. While my gaffe would have been gracefully dealt with, it was a relief not to make a complete fool of myself. I seem to have been doing that too often lately. Although I believe Min would be highly amused to be thought of as a more traditional 'Madam'."

"I would have told you myself but I had no idea you'd never visited the House of Mirth before," said Dumbledore, wary that Severus' edgy temper would make him see a malicious prank where none had been intended.

"There would have been little point. For a number of reasons," added Snape, before his eyes lit up again. "It's a wonderful place, Albus. Although Radmer the Poet is poorly named. Quince and Medlar arrived yesterday evening, which is why I spent my second night there. You should have heard Medlar's theories on the magical cores of wands. I must owl Ollivander. It was a pity he couldn't get away. And Oliwa read his paper on the applications of Salamander's blood with reference to - "

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore, in the faint hope of stemming the tide.

"He was kind enough to give me a preview copy of his paper. I've books for Remus, Minerva, March and Miss Granger and the seeds for Ceres finally came. Oh, and I got these." Hauling his jacket from his shoulder Snape fumbled in a bulging pocket, returned the tiny package to its full size and handed the large bag of lemon sherberts to Dumbledore. "The non-exploding kind."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore, with real pleasure. "Did you meet Phryne? I hear she's a - uh - fascinating speaker." He already knew the answer to that query from Snape's heavy-lidded eyes and general air of languid well-being, accompanied as it was by that unconsciously smug air of a wizard who felt as if he had just invented the broomstick.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Really, Albus." But his mouth quirked before he straightened it.

Dumbledore patted him on the arm. "Excellent. I wish I could meet her, I've heard so much about her."

"And she, you. It's easily arranged. She'll be at the House of Mirth for another two days."

"Then what are you doing here?" teased Dumbledore.

Snape extended one hand. "Not a tremor. I want to make the most of it and get on with some overdue potion-making."

Dumbledore's expression softened. Severus was a true Potions Master - the weeks of not being able to work had been hard on him.

"Also, I have made myself available to Miss Granger for whenever she wishes to leave Hogwarts."

"Ah, yes. I don't know when that will be. Apparently she heard from Krum yesterday. He has ended their relationship."

"Given that he always gave the appearance of having been hit by a Bludger one time too many, he's no loss. She deserves better. But I suppose it was too much to hope that Krum might consider her feelings - in light of her recent bereavement."

Dumbledore swallowed his surprise at Snape's train of thought. "Indeed," he said non-committally. "Sirius has again begged me to let Harry spend the last two weeks of the holidays at Hogwarts." He was careful to say nothing more.

Snape eyed him with resignation; he should have known it was too good to last.

"I haven't yet made a decision," added Dumbledore. "My instinct is to say no."

"You always say people should follow their instincts," said Snape piously.

"Are you prepared to guard Harry, as well as Hermione?"

"Don't I always?" returned Snape sourly.

Dumbledore drew him a little closer. "We couldn't have come this far without you. I don't remember to thank you often enough."

"You really do want Harry to come here, don't you."

It troubled Dumbledore that Snape should still be so uneasy about receiving a compliment but he let it pass for now.

"It would be good for Sirius," he said. "And Harry, of course. They have had so little time together. And Harry's holidays have been an unhappy time for him."

"While mine have been so much fun." The childishness of the retort occurring to him just too late, Snape fell silent.

"You need see nothing of him."

"If only I could believe that."

"I suppose there's no hope of you making him feel welcome?" snapped Dumbledore with a hint of tartness.

"And that would reassure Harry how?"

"This enmity between you is ridiculous."

"If only I was the worst thing he had to face," murmured Snape. "Let him do his worst. Although I expect to be summoned on the twenty-fifth, if not before. Bad enough to win Miss Granger's sympathy vote, I'm damned if I'll tolerate Potter's."

"Remus's quarters are large. It would be easy enough to add another spare bed there. Sirius won't want to let Harry out of his sight. They're both desperate for a family."

Snape spared the older man a brief look, wondering if he was really so ignorant of the relationship between Black and Lupin. But he had to admit, they would both place Harry's needs first. With luck he need never see the boy.

"Do as you wish," he said ungraciously. "I must get back to work. Remus had enough potion for this month but I prefer to maintain a high level of stock. Fortunately recent refinements mean it can be stored - with care."

"He has nothing but praise for your training," said Dumbledore as they approached the main door of the castle. Will you join me for breakfast?"

"Perhaps later. I need to change."

"After you've caught up on a little sleep."

Snape just looked amused. "Do you never stop fishing? I slept. Not much, I admit, but enough. I'll join you later," he added, before he headed up the main staircase with a display of energy not seen for almost two years.

Beginning to feel more optimistic about their chances of surviving until Christmas, Dumbledore headed into the Great Hall.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

 

Snape owled a full account of Oliwa's talk to three of his regular correspondents before his growling stomach insisted that he have breakfast. After a lengthy stretch of pure well-being, he slumped bonelessly. Time free of specific duties was still something of a novelty and this new sense of... Not peace exactly but... If this was contentment he could grow accustomed to it very quickly.

Propping his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands, he tried in an unpractised kind of way to make sense of what was happening to him - not that he'd had much experience of self-appraisal over recent years. Life had been grim enough without that. The events of the last few weeks had been extraordinary - not least because he was still alive when he had almost prepared himself for death. The real problem was he was learning to appreciate life in ways he couldn't remember before - although that might be due to the fact his battlefields had become more clear cut over the years.

His carefully developed emotional armour had worn so thin it was thread-bare. Whether that wearing away came from his defences crumbling under a two year bombardment from Cruciatus and near-constant pain he didn't know, but the change had left him feeling as naked and vulnerable as a snail being winkled out of its shell. He could almost feel the hooks in his heart, belly and balls and he had absolutely no idea what he could do about it.

He hadn't known he had friends at Hogwarts - or anywhere else for that matter. There had been scholarly exchanges by owl post with some of the great minds in wizardom but... Despite his carefully fostered reputation in some circles, he had been greeted as an equal at the House of Mirth.

It had been a pointer to what life could be like once Voldemort was defeated.

He glanced at his bare forearm but there was still no sign of the Dark Mark. Instead of being able to relax and enjoy his restored health during what remained of the holidays, he kept losing the moment worrying when he would be summoned again. If it didn't happen before he would be called on the twenty-fifth to celebrate the initiation of the new Death Eaters.

And while he knew - knew - that James' son couldn't possibly have made the same mistake he had, still the fear squatted in the back of his mind. He doubted if he was the only one with such worries.

His eyes infinitely weary, Snape shivered and left the desk to move into the sunlight that was pouring into his study high in Serpens Tower. Settling himself in a window embrasure, he stretched out to soak up the heat, although even the sun couldn't erase the icy fear he had lived with for so long. Not so much of death itself, but the manner in which it might come. Or worse yet, of being left to vegetate in a bed in St. Mungo's with his mind shredded.

Stupid to dwell on things over which he had no control; he should be used to that by now - the burr under his skin which never quite went away.

Despite Potter's victories over the Dark Lord, they had only been partial victories; Voldemort always returned, seemingly stronger than ever while they -

Why, they relied on lion-hearted, bone-headed children to fight their battles for them.

Albus never spoke of it, but it was obvious he had little expectation of victory. Despite the hopes they'd had of his being able to provide useful knowledge he was no longer privy to Voldemort's plans. The information flowed one way, and the misinformation he fed Voldemort was, of necessity, slight. Despite his constant failures the headmaster had never uttered a word of reproach each time he returned with nothing that could help their cause. With so many potential spies living in Hogwarts they were running out of misinformation to give Voldemort.

Snape knew that the odds he would still be alive at the beginning of the new term were poor. But at least junior Potions would be in the safe hands of Remus Lupin. He would have liked to pretend it was the quality of his instruction but suspected it owed far more to Lupin's application, but however hard he worked he would never be capable of brewing the potion he most needed. How to ensure...?

His stomach growled with increasing insistence.

Shaking off such morbid thoughts, Snape got to his feet. He would worry about that later. In the meantime he was alive, on holiday, hungry and with the promise of a day - and night - of pleasure ahead of him. He headed into the bathroom for a quick shower and change of clothes.

 

Snape was still plaiting his wet hair as he strode into the Great Hall. He stopped dead when four pairs of eyes examined him with various degrees of subtlety. There were times when living in Hogwarts felt like occupying a goldfish bowl surrounded by hungry cats - and they purported to be his allies.

"You're looking well," remarked Professor McGonagall, managing to load the innocuous phrase with so many layers of meaning that Snape gave her a wary look.

"Come and sit down, Severus," encouraged Madam Pomfrey, patting the empty chair beside her.

"Yes, you must be tired," continued Professor McGonagall blandly.

Taking his seat, Snape gave her a resigned look and parted his hands. "If there's any mercy in you - which I doubt - get the witticisms over with now. There must be some humorous quip you've forgotten."

"Let him be, Minerva. He looks hungry," said Flitwick.

"That's because I am," said Snape, wasting no time in beginning to eat. "Has anyone seen Albus? I met him in the grounds earlier but - "

"The Ministry wanted to see him. Which means he's probably having a doze until Fudge stops waffling," said Professor Sprout.

"He mentioned that you'd said Oliwa was at the House of Mirth last night," said Flitwick, excitement causing him to sway where he sat.

"Indeed he was. You would have enjoyed it. He's a lucid speaker. He began by drawing parallels..."

"I could murder March sometimes," muttered Professor McGonagall. "How are we supposed to get Severus back on track while he's - ?"

"Minerva," said Professor Sprout wearily, "some of us prefer the subtle approach."

"Oh, very well." Professor McGonagall sliced the top off her boiled egg with real venom. She wasn't sleeping well and didn't expect to until after the twenty-fifth. Not that she wanted to see any Hogwarts students go over to the Dark Lord, although in the case of three Slytherins even Severus seemed to have given up hope of being able to prevent it. But what if Harry...?

Shooting her a shrewd look, Professor Sprout took care to draw her into the ensuing discussion.

"I have a copy of Oliwa's paper in my quarters. I'll get a house elf to send it along to you," Snape told Flitwick. "Ceres, I have some Centennial Lily seed for you. Apparently it - " He disappeared beneath voluminous folds of fabric as an ecstatic Professor Sprout launched herself at him. When he finally emerged from her embrace he was somewhat rumpled.

"Yes, well..." he said, eyeing her nervously.

It took ten minutes for Professor Sprout to stop telling everyone else about this rarest of lilies' unique properties.

"Given all the delights of the House of Mirth, I'm surprised to see you back today," she added to Snape.

"I'm proposing to get down to some long-overdue potion-making now I can finally trust myself not to drop everything."

"Oh," said Professor McGonagall, a wealth of meaning in her voice.

Snape set down his jam-laden triangle of toast. "Why? What alternative delight did you have planned for me today?"

"Not just Minerva," corrected Professor Sprout. "Albus intends to hold a meeting of the Inner Council after the full moon. Before then Hermione needs to get that visit to her old home over with. We've all made suggestions but she keeps finding excuses to put it off."

"So would I in her place. There's no rush, surely," said Snape. "There are another five days before Remus will be free."

"'While grief is an agony, it's the agony of the moment. Indulgence of grief can be the burden of a lifetime,'." quoted Madam Pomfrey a trifle self-consciously.

Snape almost choked on the mouthful he was eating.

"Poppy!" he protested. "The only thing drivel like that demonstrates is what a prosy old fool Lakmer the Tuneful really was. He must have composed that pap by the bucketload."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a cross look. "The fact remains, the sooner Hermione deals with the outstanding issue of the house the better. We thought - hoped - that you might be willing to consider... Because you were so effective last time..."

"Make her see to it today," cut in Professor McGonagall.

"Not a chance," said Snape decisively, taking a reviving sip of cold tea.

Three voice protested at once. Unmoved, Snape refilled his cup then made the mistake of glancing at Flitwick, who was watching him with unmistakable disappointment.

"No," he said, pushing away the rest of his toast.

"As you will," said Flitwick. "Although I don't know who else you imagine has your experience at recognising danger... Perhaps if I were to accompany Minerva..."

"This is the first holiday I've had in almost two years. Do you know how long it's been since I've been able to do any brewing?"

"I know," said Flitwick, "and it is unfair of us to expect you to do more."

Snape's lips moved in silent imprecation. While Flitwick couldn't hear what he was saying, the gist was obvious. He was careful not to smile.

"All right," growled Snape. "I'll do it."

"It will be a difficult day," warned Professor Sprout. "Whatever happens, don't let Hermione clam up."

"Indeed no," said Madam Pomfrey. "Keep her talking at all costs."

"Talking is healthy," said Professor McGonagall with all the assurance of one parroting something only half understood many years ago.

Snape looked unimpressed. "Talking is what left me knocked down by a chit of a girl last time. I hope you haven't forgotten how to mend broken noses, Poppy."

"Thank you, Severus," murmured Flitwick. "I appreciate this."

"I bet you do." Rising to his feet, Snape glared at him. "This is the last time, March."

"Absolutely," Flitwick agreed.

"Outmanoeuvred by a Ravenclaw..." sighed Snape. I'm going before you find me some other 'simple' task - like capturing a live Manticore."

Flitwick looked up at Snape as the younger man rose to his feet. "Joking aside, I realise what we're asking of you," he said seriously.

Ambushed by the affection on Flitwick's face, Snape muttered something graceless and strode off.

As he left the table something fluttered to the ground, but by the time Professor McGonagall had found her wand and levitated the embossed card into her hand, Snape had left the Great Hall.

"Oh," she said, holding out the card.

"Minerva McGonagall, did you just read Severus' private - ?"

"It was face up," said Professor McGonagall defensively.

Professor Sprout gave her a hard stare before twitching the card out of her hand. "Oh my stars! It's a ticket for tonight's talk by that Hungarian Potions Master Severus is always going on about. Why didn't he say?"

"What would be the point? We'd already decided his day for him," said Flitwick. "Miss Granger is an estimable young woman, but she's a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin. She isn't Severus' responsibility. Poppy, you're her guardian, this was up to you."

"I know that, just as I know it might look as if I'm abrogating my responsibilities. But Severus is by far the best equipped to protect her. And at the moment I think he's the one most likely to be able to help her. Hermione has said more to him than to any of us. I'm worried about her. There's something wrong - beyond the obvious grief for her parents."

Professor McGonagall lost what little colour she had. "I've been so busy worrying about Harry... You don't think - ?"

"She's an obvious target for Voldemort," said Madam Pomfrey. "Close friend and confident of Potter's..."

"Thank you, Poppy. Just what I need, someone else to worry about," said Professor McGonagall. She relieved Professor Sprout of the card. "If Severus isn't back in time do you suppose it would be bad form to use his ticket?

"What?" she demanded, when she looked up to find three people glaring at her.

***

 

Hermione wandered aimlessly into the walled garden, where Professor Sprout maintained a large herb garden. Many of the herbs were past their best but she nipped off a sprig of Apple Mint, refreshed by its fresh, clean, green scent. The air was thick as honey and so still it was an effort to move through it. And it was only breakfast time.

Lured by the sound of the fountain she rounded a brick-paved path edged with lavender to see Lupin and Black sprawled in the shade, the remains of a picnic breakfast in front of them.

Smiling their welcome, they scrambled to their feet before she could stop them.

"You look remarkably hot," said Black with his usual degree of tact.

"I feel it," Hermione conceded, nodding her thanks as Lupin handed her a glass of chilled raspberry juice. She settled on a rug with her back to a wooden post and only her feet in the sun. Kicking off her soft-soled shoes she wiggled her bare toes.

"This isn't the obvious place to find you," she said.

"That's what we hoped," said Lupin. "We're hiding from Ceres until she forgives us."

"What have you done now?" asked Hermione, knowing Professor Sprout had been less than impressed with their ability to identify plants.

"I knocked a prepared tray of Vigotree seeds into some fertilizer," said Black ruefully. "And we didn't notice until two hours later - "

" - by which time the Vigotree seeds had broken through the roof of one of the potting sheds," added Lupin, a grin lurking.

"I spent hours soaking and peeling those wretched seeds," Hermione told Black severely.

"It's quite unnerving, for a moment you looked just like Snape," he said, with a dramatic shudder. "Don't worry, we'll be making our penance in the form of manual labour. Though not, I hope, in this heat.

"I had an owl from Harry at the beginning of the week," he added in an abrupt change of subject. "He seems pretty miserable."

"I thought so too," nodded Hermione. "Though he always hates the summer holidays because of staying with the Dursleys."

"He said something about not being able to stay with the Weasleys for as long as usual..."

"That's right. Fred and George needed more money for their joke shop so they sold the patent of their Ton-Tongue Toffee to get it. They spent some of the proceeds taking the whole family out to see first Bill, then Charlie. Obviously it would be far too difficult to guarantee Harry's safety on a trip of that kind."

Black nodded. "I had hoped that Albus would allow Harry to spend the holidays here but he insists Harry is safer with the Dursleys. I can't go to him for obvious reasons."

"Harry understands that," comforted Hermione. "At least he knows you're safe and well."

"Sometimes that's not enough. Do you know how little contact I've been able to have with him? You can't just pick up on someone's life after so long - And why am I telling you this?" Black broke off to say, looking embarrassed.

"Because I'm quite a good listener - though I never used to be," Hermione admitted. "I was too busy trying to prove myself and to fit in. There's a lot of prejudice against Mudbloods at Hogwarts."

"Hermione! You know better than to use that term," said Lupin, sitting up.

"It doesn't stop what I said from being true."

"No," he conceded.

"Bloody Slytherins," said Black, his expression hardening.

"If it was just them I wouldn't mind so much but Ravenclaws and Gryffindors can be just as bad. Hufflepuffs pity you, which is even worse," she added.

"Much," smiled Lupin. "The holidays must be dull for you with no one of your own age around. You must be missing Harry and Ron."

Wondering how anyone could possibly call these holidays dull, Hermione shook her head. "Not so much since I started spending more time with you and Mr Black," she said without thinking.

"'A hit, a very palpable hit'," said Snape, approaching from a path behind them in time to hear that.

"It was a low blow," agreed Lupin, smiling at Hermione's look of embarrassment. "Relax, Miss Granger. I, at least, know a compliment when I hear one. Join us, Severus?" he added, as if it was the most natural question in the world.

"It's tempting, if only to enjoy the expression on Black's face."

"Drink this instead, it's very good," said Lupin peaceably, pouring out some of the chilled juice.

Disdaining the shade, Snape sat in the full sun with obvious enjoyment and Hermione wondered how he survived in the dankness of the dungeons.

"I intended to resume work on various potions but discovered I need some fresh supplies. As I'm going to Diagon Alley I came to see if there is anything you want. You, too, Miss Granger," Snape added as an obvious afterthought.

Stung, she gave him a cold look.

"There are a number of things I need," said Lupin, scrambling to his feet. "Only with the full moon approaching I prefer to stay close to Hogwarts. Is - ?" He could not quite conceal his anxiety.

"There's an ample supply bottled and stored in the usual place," said Snape. "I'll make more when I get back in case anything should... It's useful to have a reserve."

"Are you sure?" demanded Black. "I mean, we all know how much you love werewolves."

"Sirius!" snapped Lupin, rounding on him. Even in human form he retained something of the heightened senses of a werewolf - it was helping im to become a decent potions-maker - and so he could smell Snape's fear every time they were in close proximity. A fear Snape had never permitted himself to betray since that terrible time when Sirius had tricked him into going into the Whomping Willow. "Severus, I'm - "

"If you start apologising for Black you'll never stop," dismissed Snape, in a cold, clipped voice. "I leave within the hour, with or without your list."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"Black?" added Snape. It had the sound of an obscenity.

"You'll grow old waiting for an apology from me. I don't trust you and I'm not about to pretend that I do."

Snape's look of disdain would have ruffled calmer souls than Black's.

"Miss Granger? Is there anything you require?"

"I didn't realise I can't go to Diagon Alley by myself. Does this mean I can't leave the grounds unaccompanied?" She felt immediately indignant - not that she had wanted to go anywhere, until now.

"The headmaster would prefer that you didn't."

"Wonderful." She exhaled crossly. "I can't go shopping at the moment. I won't have any money in my Gringotts account until my parents' estate is resolved - "

"Then the sooner you set that in motion, the better. In the meantime, an accommodation has been arranged for you. Just let me know the sum you require and I'll obtain it for you while I'm at Gringotts."

"Mr Frayne has thought of everything," said Hermione with relief.

"Hasn't he just," said Lupin, nobody's fool.

Snape ignored him.

"Let me have the list of things you need," he said to Hermione.

"There are things I need buy."

The frown line between his eyebrows deepened. "Such as?"

"Tampons, for one," she said bluntly. If she had hoped to disconcert him she was disappointed.

"You don't need to buy those. The Infirmary maintains large supplies of sanitary wear," he said without turning a hair.

She noticed that Black seemed afflicted with the same deafness which affected Harry and Ron whenever anything remotely approaching 'women's matters' was mentioned.

"Then I need some new clothes - and Muggle underwear, it's far prettier and much more comfortable. The academic supplies I'll need for next year. Some books. And make-up."

"That's a requirement?" teased Lupin. "Miss Granger, it's obvious we've been remiss. You do indeed need to go shopping. For some time by the sounds of that list."

"Yes," said Snape in a hollow voice. Memories of being dragged off shopping in Hogsmeade with girlfriends was a horror which had lingered down the years.

Black began to cheer up as he appreciated the misery which lay ahead of Snape. "Hours," he said happily.

Snape's expression further soured.

"I could send Harry a list," said Hermione without much conviction.

"Yes, that would do it," said Snape.

"He's not that bad."

Snape gave a snort of derision.

Hermione didn't attempt to defend herself. The only thing she could have said that would have been less convincing would be to have suggested she send the list to Ron.

"What about one of the girls in your class?" asked Black, taking pity on her.

Snape sighed. "Can you think of a woman alive who would permit another woman to select her clothing or make-up for her?"

Hermione blinked. "Do you have sisters?"

"No, just powers of observation."

"And a history of - " Black fell silent under a glare from Lupin.

Hermione glanced at Snape, who gave her a disagreeable look back before he obviously remembered his allotted task.

"Accompany me to Gringotts and Diagon Alley. If you need Muggle shopping we can attend to that before we go on to your parents' house."

Only then did Hermione realise how neatly she was being trapped. "No. It's too soon. I'm not ready. I can't - All in one day?" she added in a small voice.

"We'll take a leaf out of your book and use a time turner. I won't pretend this is going to be an easy day but delaying it will only make it harder. Will you trust me to take care of you?"

He was the last person in the world she would have expected to make that kind of emotional appeal. Put like that there was little else she could say. Hermione gave a jerky nod.

"But I'll need to change," she said.

If she had expected polite denials, she was to be disappointed. Snape case a disparaging look at her shabby dress and bare legs.

"Yes," he agreed.

Rather than being offended Hermione subdued the impulse to giggle hysterically. Snape was going to help her choose new knickers. The world had gone mad. What was worse, there was no one with whom she could share the joke.

"Uh," said Snape, in a rare display of public uncertainty. "will I pass for a Muggle in these clothes?"

Yet to accustom herself to his new face and body, Hermione tried to be objective in her study of him. While superbly tailored his outfit was a little theatrical, although it couldn't be denied that it made the most of his best features... In London it would go unremarked, except possibly in the City.

"You'll be fine," she said, refocusing to find Lupin trying to subdue a grin and Snape looking irritable and self-conscious. She hoped vaguely that she'd done a better job than she remembered of not staring but suspected she couldn't have from the way Snape's hands were draped in his lap.

Lupin collected up the rugs and picnic items with a flick of his wand. "We'll come inside with you. I can sort out that shopping list. Sirius could use a few items too."

"Yes, I can think of several things to give him," agreed Snape, ignoring the glare boring into his back with the ease of long practise. "Miss Granger, how long will it take you to get ready?"

"How long is a piece of string?"

"Thirty minutes in this case. I'll meet you at the main door. Don't be late."

 

As they passed through the second set of doors into the imposing marble hall of Gringotts the head of every clerk seated behind the high counters turned, marked them, then flicked back to the huge ledgers, but the air remained full of resentment and suspicion. Hermione resisted the temptation to clutch at a portion of Snape's frock coat for reassurance.

"Miss Granger?"

Only then did she realise she had tucked her arm into the crook of Snape's.

"Uh. Sorry," she gabbled, leaving her arm where it was and holding on tight. "It's just... I hate this place," she whispered. "I always feel as if they resent us." She gestured to the Goblins scowling down at them.

"They do. They loathe withdrawals even more. Which reminds me, you'll need some Muggle money for your shopping. Let me know how much and I'll check the exchange rate at the Bureau de Change before we go down to my vault."

"What about all the other vaults - Professor Lupin's, mine and - Oh, I suppose his isn't..." Hermione trailed off into silence under the influence of Snape's repressive stare.

"Quite so," he said in a quelling tone. "By your own admission, your vault is empty, that of our canine friend is frozen by the Ministry and I have no intention of going inside Lupin's when he isn't present."

"Then..."

"If I may be allowed to finish?" said Snape irritably.

Hermione glared at him but didn't release his arm.

"I'll simply place IOUs in my vault until they can be redeemed," continued Snape.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to say you're going to be bankrolling all of us?"

"Certainly. Imagine Black's delight."

"But I thought you hated him."

"Oh, I do. But I save it for things that matter. It's only money, Miss Granger. Hold it in too much reverence and you might find yourself being offered a job at Gringotts. 'i possis recte, si non, quocumque, modo rem'."

Busy filing away this new side to Snape, Hermione nodded vaguely while her mind worked overtime. Anyone with such a lofty disdain for money had obviously never known what it was to be without it.

As they headed down the hall there was something of a commotion before they were surrounded by obsequious Goblin helpers, bowing in a manner she found highly embarrassing. From the way Snape's jaw tightened she had the impression he wasn't enjoying it much either.

"Miss Granger, Griphook, head clerk of Gringotts. Griphook, Miss Granger. A word, if you will."

Detaching himself from Hermione, Snape moved away a couple of paces, bent his head and had a fast, muttered conversation. Griphook looked furious. Snape shrugged, checked the exchange rate between Galleons and Muggle pounds and turned back to Hermione with an odd expression.

"All that, just to buy underwear?" he said incredulously. She obviously had hidden depths. Or some physical deformity which was not immediately apparent.

"That coming from a man whose clothes and boots are handmade," Hermione retorted, disconcerted by his dark-eyed appraisal of her person. She had never been so completely assessed - and approved of - as a woman before. Her mouth dry, her palms damp and her nipples springing erect, she didn't know whether to be affronted or flattered. She was certainly acutely aware of the intense masculinity housing that acute mind and sharp, sarcastic tongue.

Snape looked puzzled. "How else would they be produced?"

"Oh," said Hermione, taken aback. "I never thought of that. It's different in my - I don't even know which is my world," she burst out. "Here I feel... I'm a Mudblood when I come in here."

"Racism from the founder of S.P.E.W.? Only those of full Goblin blood actually work within the bank itself. And you, like so many of our pupils, are of both worlds. Although if you could concentrate on this one for now we might actually get something done. This way." Returning to her side, Snape waited until she tucked her arm in his before encouraging her to continue down the crowded hall to a door at the far end. Griphook slouched along in front of them, radiating disapproval.

Realising where they were heading, Hermione stopped.

"Couldn't I stay here?" she pleaded. "Only those carts give me motion sickness."

"No. Vomit anywhere you like, except over me," added Snape, displaying his usual amount of concern. He steered her out of the hall and into a narrow stone passage which sloped at an alarming angle.

"Follow Griphook," he murmured. "I'm right behind you."

"And this will reassure me because...?" Afraid he might misunderstand her feeble attempt at humour, she swung back to him.

He turned her forward again and gave a little push between her shoulder blades.

Their boot heels echoed in the silence, torch light casting ghastly shadows on the uneven stone walls. The path levelled out only when they reached the narrow rail track.

Once Snape sat beside her in the small cart Hermione closed her eyes. As the cart shot off at a dizzying speed her hair came unbound to stream out in Maenad locks, her stomach threatening to disown her. She clutched at the first available support.

The blood supply in his arm in danger of being cut off and most of Hermione's hair in his face Snape resigned himself to an uncomfortable journey. To his relief her nausea didn't find physical expression.

Dizzy and disoriented, Hermione staggered as they left the cart. She flexed the hand cramped from its death-grip on Snape as she looked up. The vault must have been used by the Snape family for some years judging from the exquisite metalwork decorating the vast door. Predictably, there was a large and very beautiful serpent coiled around what she presumed was the tree of knowledge. The conceit of the one apple, waiting to be plucked, made her smile wryly.

It was a moment more before she saw the ornate script curving around the crest: 'or tuum si te decipiet, asendere noli.'

How very Snape, she thought, then jumped as the supercilious serpent raised its head, its tongue flicking out as it seemed to stare straight at her.

"Miss Granger?" said Snape, seemingly blessed with the ability to see in three different directions at once.

"It's nothing. Just... That snake looked at me." Expecting derision at best, she was pleasantly surprised.

"Yes, I haven't found a way to stop it doing that," said Snape pensively, stepping aside so Griphook could open the door.

"The smoke from my vault is blue," said Hermione as clouds of green and silver smoke billowed out past them.

Snape looked pained. "Do try and concentrate on essentials. In you come."

Hermione stayed where she was. "You want me to go inside your vault?"

"I want you where I can see you," he corrected her, sounding more irritable by the minute.

"But Gringotts is the safest - "

"You may recall the break-in during your first year at Hogwarts."

"But I'm not nearly as valuable as the - " Remembering Griphook's presence, she ground to a halt, uncertain whether the Philosopher's Stone could be spoken of in public, even now.

Snape turned in the doorway to glance back at her. "Humility from a Gryffindor. The world must be coming to an end. The quicker you do as you're told, the quicker we can get out of here."

"Griphook doesn't look very happy at the idea of me seeing inside your vault," noted Hermione, staying where she was.

"What I choose to do in my vault is my business." Arrogance falling away, Snape went back to looking irritable again. "Will you get a move on! I swear you're more trouble than twenty first years."

If there was any justice Hermione's glare would have reduced Snape to a pile of greasy ash. Then she moved around the door, saw inside his vault and blinked. It was huge and almost full of stack upon stack of Galleons and chests overflowing with rich coloured gemstones, making it obvious that Snape could not be reliant on his teaching salary from Hogwarts. As displays of wealth went it was impressive. Hermione was more interested in trying to read the faded titles on the small pile of books on top of an open casket of what she took to be diamonds.

Following her line of vision, Snape swept past her and virtually pounced on the books, ignoring the column of Galleons he had knocked to the ground.

"I thought I'd lost these. And Radiccio Levant's 'Treatise... Never mind." A Reducing Charm later the books were safely stowed away in one of his pockets. "Excellent." He turned to leave the vault, crunching over the fallen Galleons.

"Um, Professor. Won't we need some of these?" asked Hermione, charmed by this display of single-mindedness.

Snape's expression soured. "If only you were amusing as you believe. Stop smirking and fill these up." Handing her two small leather sacks, he kept two more for himself.

About to ask how much she should take Hermione watched him stuff handfuls of Galleons into the sacks until they were full and followed his example.

The trolley back never seemed so bad, probably because escape from the bank was in sight. After a brief pause at the Bureau de Change to change some Galleons into pounds they were back out in the bustle and heat of Diagon Alley.

Hermione took a deep lungful of the smelly air.

"That's better," she said, releasing Snape's arm. "It would be quicker if we split up."

"What a good idea," said Snape with suspect affability. "Or you could just hold up a placard announcing your presence and see what comes crawling out of the woodwork."

"A simple no would have sufficed," Hermione pointed out.

Glancing down at her, Snape grinned despite himself. "Not with you," he said with conviction. "Necessities first."

Hermione had never had much cause to spend long in the apothecary's before, let alone go into the dimly-lit back room which was, if anything, even more cluttered than the store. While the appalling smell was gone she couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched but the only eyes belonged to some long-dead creatures and were floating in a colourless liquid.

Disdaining the offer of refreshments without consulting Hermione, Snape wasted no time in placing his order and agreeing on a delivery date for the school supplies.

"Miss Granger, put that Manticore skin down before you cut yourself on its - Too late. Try to staunch the bleeding or we might find Mrs Comfit selling your blood to someone." Snape's voice was so bland and silky that it was a moment before Hermione recognised the steel behind it. Taking out his wand, he made no pretence of hiding the fact he was removing all traces of Hermione's blood from the hidden spines on the Manticore skin.

"Professor Snape, as if I would," Mrs Comfit crooned, in an oily, sleepy kind of voice. "Let me tend to the little dear."

"I'm quite capable of seeing to the cut myself, thank you," Hermione said. Without being conscious of it she moved even closer to Snape when it occurred to her that she wasn't sure what Mrs Comfit was.

Pausing only to confirm delivery of the items for his personal use, Snape steered Hermione back out into the street without further ado. A few moments later he herded her through a narrow door.

Recognising her surroundings, Hermione grinned. She hadn't known Diagon Alley had a Witches' Toilet.

"Should you be in here?" she asked.

Snape ignored the facetious comment to peer at her gashed palm. "That's a deep cut. You say you can see to it. Poppy's allowing you to - ?"

"Not exactly," hedged Hermione. "But I know the theory and I'd far rather test it on myself than on someone else."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor. I suppose I could try to stop the bleeding," said Snape, taking out his wand. The doubt in his voice hardly inspired confidence.

"No need. See, it's virtually stopped already," said Hermione with relief.

"Thank you for your faith in me - though you're probably right to be cautious," he admitted, looking as irritated as only a wizard accustomed to excelling could when faced with his own limitations. Tucking away his wand, he was fishing in an inside pocket as he spoke. "Sit on that chair and hold out your hand." Crouching down beside her, he took the stopper from a small vial. "This might sting a little," he warned, before he used the tiny pipette to apply one drop of the purple liquid to the wound.

"A little!" Hermione gasped, tears springing to her eyes.

"Better a small smart now." Snape examined the gash without touching it, although Hermione had the strangest feeling he was sniffing the wound. "I thought so. Mrs Comfit does love to have her fun." He produced another small vial from an inner pocket. "Keep still. This won't hurt. I promise," he added, glancing up at her through his ridiculously thick eyelashes.

"What was wrong?" asked Hermione, watching as he applied three drops of a clear liquid that smelt of nothing more than lemon balm.

"Nothing, except she must have treated that Manticore skin with a preparation of her own. A minute amount of that potion got in that cut of yours. Rather than repelling Charms, the Manticore skin - and you - would attract them like a powerful magnet. If we had time I'd go back and collect a sample. I think I know the potion she must have used but... No, leave your hand like that for a moment more. A small Cheering Charm will confirm whether I've dealt with the problem.

"No desire to beam at everyone you meet?" Snape asked a moment later.

"Not noticeably."

"Excellent. Then we can get on. Do you need new robes?"

To Snape's relief Hermione proved an efficient shopper. She knew what she wanted and had no interest in browsing so the rest of their shopping in Diagon Alley was almost a pleasure. They spent longest in Flourish and Blotts, Snape heading for the antiquarian section as soon as the school text books had been purchased. Ignoring the familiar lure of books, Hermione found herself watching his unguarded face instead - although her gaze slipped downwards a couple of times when he bent to select volumes from the lower shelves.

Snape's concentration was total and it was only when one of Hermione's pointed coughs penetrated his abstraction that he appreciated how long they had been in the shop - and how many volumes he had acquired. Noticing Hermione's wistful gaze on them, he sighed.

"Yes, you may borrow them. Do not pass them around your classmates."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"That was a foolish thing to say," Snape conceded. "The likelihood of any of them voluntarily picking up a book.... Except perhaps Malfoy. And you'll hardly be lending him anything."

"Not in this lifetime," she agreed.

Snape let that pass. "Is there anything else you require in Diagon Alley?"

"You're being very..." Hermione suddenly thought the better of what she had been about to say.

"Quite so," he said, undeceived but the glint of amusement was back in his eyes.

"London here we come," she said, trying to inject a note of enthusiasm into her voice. Once she had bought a few clothes there would be no excuse for further delay and thanks to the time turner plenty of time to go through with the visit to her parents' house.


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

 

While he saw no reason to tell his companion, Snape had spent comparatively little time in the Muggle world. He had forgotten the noise, the appalling chemical reek and the sheer strangeness which seemed to pervade everything. It didn't help that he was forced to rely upon Hermione for their destination. He found the various modes of transport dirty, smelly and inefficient and his wand hand twitched on a number of occasions. By watching her closely he thought he had avoided making any egregious errors but some of the customs were so odd it was hard to tell. He found the shops characterless and the quality of the merchandise appalling.

After a couple of murmured "Are you really proposing to buy something so shoddy?" he was gratified to discover Hermione was paying more attention to him.

He found the shoe emporium surprisingly erotic but nothing could have prepared him for the lingerie department; so many beautiful women and far too much lace and satin for his peace of mind. The pervasive sensuality of the place began to cause him some problems. Grateful for the concealing folds of his fastened frock coat, Snape paused to attend to a Deflating Charm under the pretext of examining a black piece of froth. That was a distraction, which meant he had to start all over again. The Ministry wouldn't like it but this was almost an emergency. Besides, it wasn't as if any Muggle would even know he was performing magic - if the charm worked.

To his relief, it did. Sternly monitoring the direction of his thoughts, it was a while longer before he appreciated that rather than shopping, Hermione was simply postponing the moment when she must go to her parents' house. She had even stopped talking, except for the odd, unconvincing burst of bright, meaningless chatter.

He twitched a cerise satin and lace chemise from her hand. "It wouldn't suit you."

Her indignant glare was followed by a reluctant nod. While it went against the grain to admit it, he had impeccable taste, though she'd kill to know how Snape had become so experienced about women's underwear. It was a pity she couldn't share the joke with anyone.

"It's time to go," Snape said, suppressing a pang of sympathy when he saw how pale she had become.

Hermione gave a jerky nod. "How will we get there? By train?"

"We'll Disapparate. Pay for these first."

Hermione glanced down. "I don't need all those."

"We have the Muggle - We have the pounds, we may as well spend them. Then we need a quiet corner."

Both laden with bags, they avoided the lifts to take the stairs. The stairwell was deserted. Snape reduced the bags and stowed them in his pockets.

"I don't know how to Apparate," said Hermione, looking worried.

"I do, which is all that need concern you."

"Have you ever splinched?"

"No, and I see no need to break the habit of a lifetime just for you. We'll Disapparate to inside your parents' house."

"How will you know where to go?" she asked.

"All will be explained when you start Apparition classes next year. Take my hand."

"Why?"

His clasp was firm, warm and dry and it managed the difficult feat of being both impersonal and comforting at the same time. When Hermione opened her eyes she was standing just inside the front door of her old home.

 

Snape stood in the narrow entrance hall of the Granger family home and tried to make sense of the various gadgets and furnishings he could see through the partially open doors. He felt useless, awkward and uncertain what was expected of him and he didn't enjoy the sensations at all.

Stone-faced, Hermione was stalking from room to room, muttering lists of incomprehensible actions that were required for who knew what reason. Because she seemed to have forgotten his existence Snape remained where he was, inhaling the stale, unfamiliar smells of a residence which hadn't been occupied for months. There were the unmistakable trace scents of blood, bile, bodily voidings and putrefaction, although he doubted if Hermione would be aware of them. It looked to him as if the Ministry had done a good job of clearing up the...mess but then it wasn't his home. From the one sound which had escaped her before she had stopped her mouth with her hand he suspected too much of what had occurred here must still be apparent to Hermione either from what remained, or from what had been removed.

The materials with which the house had been constructed were far less substantial than those to which he was accustomed. He glanced upwards, trusting the walls and ceiling would hold, although whether those cracks were due to damage or some decorative pattern he had no way of knowing.

But Hermione's agitation and reluctance to come back here was explained. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own concerns it might have occurred to him before now.

Stalking past him for the third time, Hermione stopped and with her back to him said: "I'll try not to detain you for long."

She looked very alone and full of pride. She should have had someone of her own with her - except there was no one left.

"As I hoped I had made clear to you, I'm at your disposal for as long as you need me," he said quietly. "Take all the time you want. And tell me how I can help."

Swinging around, her expression was savage. "You can - " Stopping with a visible effort, she regained a modicum of control. "I didn't anticipate it would be this difficult to come back and - I... I have to sort through my parents' personal belongings. I have sacks and boxes into which we can sort the items for the charity shops, rubbish and those I'll take with me."

Snape tried to look as if he had any idea what she was talking about. It was the first time that it was really brought home to him how different the lives of those who came from Muggle families were. Yet they seemed to cope without seeming effort. It was the wizards and witches who found it difficult to adapt to Muggle ways.

"I am adept at packing," he lied.

Hermione continued to stare at him. Little by little tension eased from her. "Somehow I find that difficult to imagine. You were born to order house elves around."

His twitching mouth and shrug conceded the point. She couldn't remember him being this approachable before.

"I can pack but would you mind...? I don't want to be alone in their room while I have to go through their things. Their personal things," she said in a rush.

"Of course." He wondered if it was the belongings that were significant, or the memories associated with them.

He followed Hermione up the steep, mean staircase which felt as dead as the material covering it. When Poppy, Minerva and Ceres had advised him to keep her talking he hadn't bothered to point out that the trick was usually to get her to stop but he was beginning to appreciate that they may have had a point. Today was different. She was different and he missed his sharp-witted sparring partner and the intelligence which met and challenged his. When she had a little more confidence in her own abilities she would be unstoppable. In Diagon Alley there had been moments when she had seemed to take refuge in childhood, before shrugging those off while shopping in London. Now... Now he had no idea what to expect.

"I am not familiar with Muggle households. I should be interested to learn something about them," he said, following her into what felt like an extremely cramped room, although Hermione seemed comfortable enough - except that her eyes were brilliant with unshed tears.

"This used to be my room," she said in a tight voice, before she began giving him instructions in the bossy tone she usually reserved for Ron Weasley.

Snape discovered it was surprisingly effective in commanding obedience.

 

Although Snape had done all the physical work Hermione felt exhausted and oddly numb by the time she sank onto the edge of her parents' bed. She stared across the room to where the sun was flooding in through the grimy windows. Mum would be horrified by the state of them. Her arms folded across her torso, she watched the path of a 747 until the window ran out of sky.

Their arrival at the house had been protected by a Screening Charm, which remained in place, just as the front door and windows remained locked. Within seconds Snape had established a gentle flow of sweet air to relieve the first horror of arrival; he had a surprisingly subtle touch about such matters. She could never have foreseen how comfortable she would feel in his company, she mused, listening to the sound of his boot heels on the wooden floorboards of the hall, then the muffled sound of steps as he entered the carpeted room.

The mattress dipped as Snape silently sat beside her, offering nothing but the comfort of his presence, as he had done all day. She edged a little closer to his warmth, at ease with the intimacy because she knew it wouldn't be misinterpreted. Snape hadn't sniped at her at all since they had arrived at the house, treating her with an odd delicacy, as if she was an invalid recuperating from a long illness. It should have been comforting but she would have preferred his usual astringency. She even missed the biting sarcasms.

Snape studied the unattractive covering on the floor that smelt so alien, as did so much in this house. He was accustomed to the organic scents of wood and stone and minerals not - He didn't want to know what some of the things in this place were made of, he just wanted to leave them behind. It was difficult to imagine Hermione growing up here, she seemed so much a part of Hogwarts.

"I've almost finished," Hermione said eventually, oblivious to the amount of time that had passed. "I'm just trying to get used to the idea that I won't be coming back. That this part of my life is over."

Snape studied his clasped hands. "Did you live here long?" he asked, trying to coax her from her state of frozen misery.

"All my life," she said in the same flat, hard voice. "Until I came to Hogwarts, that is. Then... You were right. I was already drifting away from mum and dad. Our worlds had so little in common and this one became increasingly irrelevant. I was twelve when I remember admitting to myself that I'd left home. For good. It was terrifying," she added in the same deadened voice.

"I was wrong," Snape said with conviction. "If they loved you enough to allow you to find your place in our world you would never have lost one another. It isn't the place that is important but the people, and the memories and emotions associated with them. But you don't need me to tell you what you already know."

The warmth of him down her right side was the only thing keeping away the chill. Hermione studied his set profile. "I think I did. I needed that reminder. I've had to relearn a lot of things recently. I seem to be slower at some than others. Have you banged your arm?" she added, without any change in her tone.

Taken by surprise, Snape realised he had been rubbing the arm she had taken in a death grip in the cart at Gringotts.

"Possibly," he said, searching for a way to change the subject because he knew what was embedded in his arm, to the bone and beyond.

"You look loads better now. As if nothing hurts any more," she added in that clear, distinctive voice of hers.

"It doesn't," he said, wary of where this conversation might be heading.

"Madam Pomfrey told me that it was repeated inflictions of Cruciatus over the last two years which made you so ill - although I had already worked that out for myself. She also confirmed that you're working for the headmaster."

"It sounds as if you and she had quite a chat," he said dryly, resolving to have a word with Poppy on their return. What was the point of Albus Obliviating everyone in sight - including that damn reporter and the Minister - if Poppy failed to keep her own mouth shut to a chit of a girl. Although if he hadn't had that rush of blood to the head and told a room full of people that he was a Death Eater the entire mess could have been avoided. Naturally, Albus had reacted as if he'd done something clever. If he lived to be one hundred and sixty he would never understand that man.

"That would be a 'yes' then," said Hermione, trying to interpret what lay behind his distant expression.

"Hints are wasted on you, aren't they," he said, with more than a touch of acid.

"Sometimes you learn more with a little perseverance."

Despite himself his mouth twitched. "Well, yes, there is that," he was forced to concede. There were times when she had all the subtlety of a mating Hippogriff but she was usually right.

"There can't be many people capable of using the Unforgivable Curses," said Hermione, just when Snape had begun to relax again.

"More than you would think. Far more than any of us care to admit."

"Including yourself?"

"Of course."

Hermione absorbed that in silence.

"You could have lied," she said at last.

"What would be the point? You're not a fool. The Unforgivable Curses don't require any great wizarding skill, just intense focus, the will to inflict one and a degree of power. Even Longbottom could probably manage Cruciatus, if pushed hard enough."

"Is that why you torment him so - to see if he'll crack?"

"Don't be impertinent." Snape did his best to keep a grip on his slipping temper.

The edge in his formerly mellow voice, allied to the sensation of being cut off from him, made Hermione shiver with distress. She locked her icy hands together and tried to straighten her inclined-to-sag shoulders because she had to know.

"Have you ever used any of the Unforgivables?" she asked in a rush, before she realised what she had done. "I shouldn't have asked that," she added in a low voice when she noticed the peculiar blankness in his eyes and the way the skin around his mouth had whitened with the convulsive tightening of his jaw.

"Why?" he asked sharply. "Because personal questions are discourteous? Because the implication that I might consider inflicting any of the Unforgivables is insulting, or because my reply might give you the chance to send me to Azkaban?"

"I - Uh..." She suddenly realised she didn't want him to answer. She didn't want to know. Not today. Not ever.

"Well, that's honest enough anyway," Snape said, his voice flat as he absorbed her opinion of him - although quite why he should have expected any other response was a mystery.

Her head bowed.

He didn't need to look around, he could feel that she was shivering. If she was this afraid of him she should move, he thought irritably, just before it occurred to him that she might be cold. He enfolded her with the lightest of Warming Charms; as an afterthought he included himself. Despite the heat and humidity outside the room seemed cold.

When her shivering failed to abate he finally, and with considerable reluctance for what he might see on her face, turned to her, only to discover she was silently crying. From the splotched, reddened look of her face she had been doing so for some time.

He sprang to his feet fast enough to make her jump, although he didn't notice that. It hadn't occurred to him that she might be this terrified of him and it should have done. He'd terrorised enough children in his time just in the classroom. His fingers closed over the window ledge. Even the window frames were made of some foreign, dead substance. He wondered, without much interest, how long they had been in this house. He had drunk some water, and had made sure Hermione had done so too but neither of them had eaten, as his gastric juices had been announcing to the world for some time.

He hadn't done much of a job of protecting her. Ridiculous to take...offence. It had been a perfectly reasonable question, given what she knew of him.

Her crying had reached the breath-hitching stage.

"Stop snivelling," he commanded harshly, staring out the window. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She muttered something unintelligible in the middle of some unpleasantly moist sniffs.

"What?" Turning, he paused, sighed and went over to give her his handkerchief.

"Not everything's about you, you know," Hermione told him after a pause for some vigorous nose blowing.

He handed her a second handkerchief and she inhaled the scent of cypress and rosemary again.

"Besides, it never occurred to me that you might hurt me," she added.

"Then it should have done," he told her forthrightly. "Of all the damn stupid questions to ask a stranger that - "

"But you aren't a stranger," she said simply.

The trust in their eyes was always the worst, he thought vaguely. "Don't deceive yourself. In the ways that matter most I'm a total stranger to you. I've inflicted Imperius three times," Snape added, swinging back to the window.

There were times when he thought Azkaban might be quite restful. It wasn't as if he had that many happy memories to lose. On the other hand, he was attached to those he did have. He thought it unlikely that she would report him. If she did Albus would probably disown him this time. Having left himself with no other choice, Snape waited to see what she would do.

Blowing her nose again, Hermione studied the achingly straight set of his broad shoulders and the tense muscles of his buttocks and legs. As she watched, he rubbed his forearm again. It occurred to her how often she had seen him do that over the years.

So, not a bruise then. But a scar. Did Voldemort mark his Death Eaters and if so, how? She could ask Snape, except she was afraid of the answer she might receive. The shudder which ran through her went clear to her toes. It was a while before she felt able to trust herself to speak.

"The headmaster asks a lot of you," she said finally. Even now her voice sounded high and tight with nerves.

From the speed with which Snape spun around he wasn't in much better state, but then he seemed to live on his nerves at the best of times.

"This has nothing to do with him."

"I hope he would be as quick to protect you," she said, distracted by a memory that was tantalisingly just out of reach.

"He has done nothing to require my protection," dismissed Snape. His face was so devoid of expression that she knew he was lying.

"Right," she said sceptically.

"To paraphrase Hagrid - which is always suspect, I concede - A great man, Dumbledore. A very great man."

"There can be no doubt that he's a wizard of immense power."

His eyes narrowing, Snape studied her for what seemed like a very long time. "You obviously have reservations."

"About you?"

"Of course you have them about me," he dismissed impatiently. "I'm talking about the headmaster."

"Then, yes. I have plenty of reservations about Albus Dumbledore. Probably more than I do about you."

It wasn't often anyone saw Snape disconcerted and it was a moment before he thought to hide the fact. He strode over to stand intimidatingly close - an unnerving reminder of his classroom persona.

"And what has occurred to make you feel that way?"

Ignoring his looming presence Hermione launched herself from the end of the bed, forcing him to withdraw or endure physical contact. He moved. Stepping into Snape's personal space she saw it disconcert him before he retreated to accommodate her. Which was how, in six short steps, she had Severus Snape pinned to the far wall.

"Don't you dare try to intimidate me in my own house!" she told him, shaking with anger. "I'm not some snivelling first year."

He evaded her In one graceful movement.

"No, you're a snivelling about-to-become-a-seventh  
-year. I detect no improvement."

About to reply in kind because a blazing row would at least help her forget the tomb-like atmosphere of the house, Hermione swung around to him, then paused.

"Oh, no. You don't distract me that easily." Gotcha! she thought with triumph when his expression changed before he thought to control it. "You used to be better at this," she said critically.

"I used to be a lot of things," he muttered, rubbing his forearm in exactly the same spot.

"Are you sure your arm isn't hurting?" she asked with a dogged perseverance, discovering that she needed to know the worst after all.

"What?" He stared down at it. "Positive. I haven't felt the Mark for several days." Realising what he had let slip, he forced himself to meet her eyes.

"They say Voldemort marks his Death Eaters."

"They say a lot of things."

"Is it true?"

"Yes."

"The person who's been putting you under Cruciatus. It's Voldemort himself, isn't it? You're a Death Eater," Hermione added, staring directly into his lightless eyes.

Even though he had been expecting it by this time, Snape flinched. "Yes," he confirmed, every nuance of emotion schooled from his face and pressed from his voice.

"I thought you must be," she said, barely missing a beat.

"Miss Granger... Hermione," he amended with deliberation, sharpening his tone because her lack of passion was worrying him.

"Yes? Oh. What did you expect from me, hysterics?"

"In the circumstances, yes. Unless you're under any misapprehension about what it means to be a Death Eater?"

"Murder, rape, pillage, all kinds of perversions... Have I missed anything?"

"A few things," he said dryly. "Although given that list would you mind explaining why you're quite so sanguine about my revelation?"

"You're the embodiment of a Death Eater to most first years," she said cruelly.

Snape just looked tired. "Yes," he accepted.

"Before these holidays, presuming I hadn't fainted from fright, I would have had you in a Binding Spell fast enough to make your head spin."

"What's changed?"

Hermione took her time in replying because it wasn't something she had consciously thought through and so she was too preoccupied to query his untypical forbearance. "Me. You, too, I suspect, but mainly me. Not least because you - the staff - have allowed me to see you 'off-duty'. And because of what happened when you collapsed."

"Pity is a poor thing on which to base a judgment," sneered Snape, but he still looked wary.

"It's nothing to do with pity - just common sense really. You were in so much pain you were incoherent. Yet somehow you still managed to crawl away."

"So?" It didn't need his clipped tone to tell her how much he was hating this.

"The only reason you did that was in case you hurt me. I'm not stupid enough to think you're blameless - or without fault. But what you did then doesn't seem the act of a good Death Eater. Or something Voldemort would approve of."

The child he was accustomed to receded even further into the distance; Snape wasn't sure he was capable of dealing with her replacement at present.

"You give me too much credit. I don't even remember doing that."

For the first time that day Hermione gave a faint but genuine smile. "Exactly my point. Your behaviour was instinctive. How old were you when you became a Death Eater?"

Aware that he had lost all pretence of controlling this conversation, Snape leant back against the wall for some much needed support. "Eighteen. Two weeks after my birthday."

"And how old were you when you left?"

"Miss Granger..."

"When?"

"I went to Dumbledore four months later."

"It wasn't what you were expecting?" she asked prosaically.

Suddenly catapulted back, a muscle high in Snape's jaw began to jump. "Not much. Much more mundane, and therefore even more terrifying."

Hermione resisted the impulse to go over and give him a hug, as she would have done with Ron or Harry. "Harry already knows the truth about you, doesn't he?"

"That's none of your - Yes."

"I thought he must do. He stopped calling you a bastard so often. I wondered why because you were still a total git. You still are, when it suits you. We're done here," Hermione added, heading out of the room without further warning.

Feeling as he had been attacked repeatedly by a Bludger, Snape followed her. Tame as a dog on a lead, he thought bitterly, wondering how much of this mess he owed to the fact that part of his concentration had remained on the wards he had placed around the house when they arrived. He would have done better to leave the front door open and keep a guard on his tongue. Albus was going to hang him by his balls for this.

"I have everything I want," Hermione announced as she emerged from what had been her bedroom. She gestured to the holdall floating at her side; apart from the shopping she had done earlier that day it contained all her old belongings, several large pieces of furniture, and some mementos of her parents. "Are we going to Apparate back to Hogwarts?"

Snape nodded and placed the holdall under a Lifting Charm of his own before taking the handles in a firm grasp. He extended his free hand, uncertain if she would be willing to take it now. If she didn't they would have to travel back by other means. And he... Well, it hardly mattered now.

"Thank you for coming with me today," she said tiredly, before she closed her cold fingers around his marginally warmer ones.

Shock stark on his face, Snape stared down at her.

"Yes, of course I meant it," she snapped irritably, as if he had spoken. "Must you look for double meanings or slights in everything? Now can we go home?"

"Certainly," he said, subduing the highly improper impulse to kiss the top of her head.

A moment later the musty hallway was empty.


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

 

Opening her eyes to find herself in the entrance hall of Hogwarts, Hermione gave a barely audible sigh of relief: it was over. She was home.

Hearing the sigh, Snape scowled. "What? You thought I would splinch?" he demanded, testy because he had no idea what she was going to do now that she was back in the protection of Hogwarts.

"No," she said, sounding surprised. "You said you wouldn't and I've never known you to make mistakes where magic is concerned."

Snape noted the qualification but Hermione's mind was elsewhere.

"I know a lot of wizards are wary of Apparating but it's wonderful - so fast and easy. Much better than travelling by broomstick," she added with feeling.

"You don't care for broomsticks?" Snape hoped that didn't sound obscene.

"If you'd seen me riding one you wouldn't ask. Some of my most humiliating moments at Hogwarts have been on a broomstick. It doesn't help that Harry's one of the best fliers - Ron's pretty good, too. Do you think I'll be able to Apparate?"

"How should I know?" said Snape, back to his disagreeable self. "We all have different strengths and weaknesses. From my observations the ability to Apparate is more marked amongst wizards with stronger abilities. And animagi."

While he had made no obvious effort to free himself Hermione became aware that she was still holding his hand; she released it with some reluctance because she could feel him slipping away from her in every way that mattered.

"I'd like to try," she said, wondering how she could reassure him that she wouldn't dream of repeating what he had told her about himself. It was preferable to wondering what he might have done when he was a Death Eater - or not done, of course. If he judged himself half as strictly as he did his pupils it was no wonder he was so...without joy. Joy and Snape weren't words which sat easily together. Or at least they hadn't. But then if these holidays had taught her nothing else they had given her insight to many of the people who had so much influence over her life, not least Snape. She had never expected to enjoy his company so much and was already mourning the fact that come term-time they would be back to square one - worse, because she would know how much she was missing.

Her mind drifted away from potential difficulty to concentrate on the glide and dance of the stairs, whose grace was spoiled only by the jarring rumble when stone collided with stone. Her thoughts kept skittering off in three different directions at once as her mind tried to process all the information it had received over the last few hours. She couldn't stop wondering what it was that Voldemort did to mark his Death Eaters - externally, at least. She suspected Snape's scars went far deeper.

Snape's sensation of being out of his depth intensified when Hermione began to wilt in front of his eyes. To his relief he saw Madam Pomfrey coming down the main staircase towards them

"You're home, my dears! Thank you, Severus. I'm most grateful." Without further ado she took charge of Hermione's belongings and steered her towards the stairs. "You must be so tired, child. I'll take you to your permanent quarters. At present they contain only the basic necessities so that you can furnish them to your own taste." She maintained a warm stream of reassurance that required no response.

Watching them go, Snape absently massaged the back of his neck in an effort to try and relieve the tension there. His current headache would be as nothing compared to the one he could expect after he told Albus he had caved in under interrogation from a grief-stricken girl - and a pupil to boot. What had he been thinking? Bad enough that Harry knew - although hating him as he did Harry dealt with the knowledge by not thinking about it. But you might as well tell Hermione to stop breathing as not to think.

Until they had arrived at that house of horrors he had enjoyed the day more than he had expected - more than was wise, truth be told. But then wisdom and... He really should get something for this headache.

"Ah, Severus," said Flitwick as he entered the hall.

Snape turned on his heel, an unpleasant glint in his eyes. "Correct identification. Yes, we're back. Yes, she's safe. And yes, it was bloody awful."

"I'm sure it was. You've been splendid. Quite splendid," said Flitwick, in the high, fluting voice which meant that the majority of those who met him underestimated him to a dangerous degree. "But why are you loitering down here? House elves will bring a simple meal to your quarters, after which you can change into evening dress before you Disapparate to the House of Mirth. The bar to Apparating within Hogwarts will be kept down for another ninety minutes. You'll be in plenty of time to hear Lajos Rakoczi's talk after all."

His mind elsewhere, it took Snape a moment to place the name. A rare look of uncomplicated pleasure lit his face.

"Yes? The time turner proved itself on two levels then, although how Miss Granger could bear to use it for a year I shall never know. I thought I must have missed the opportunity to hear Rakoczi. I consider myself to be one of the best in the field but compared to a Potions Master like him I am a mere beginner."

"Humility, Severus?" mocked Flitwick gently.

Snape's grimace conceded the point. "It has an unlikely ring to it, I concede," he allowed.

"It may interest you to know that Rakoczi was impressed enough by your research into blood clotting times to make a point of writing to Albus to inquire if he knew of your whereabouts during the holidays. He particularly wishes to meet with you."

"Rakoczi?"

"Who else?"

Snape looked self-conscious. A moment later he pulled a face. "Before I do anything else I need to speak with the headmaster."

"Is there a problem?" asked Flitwick.

"Only for me," said Snape, looking glum. "I told Miss Granger I'm a Death Eater and that I work for Albus."

"That was precipitate of you," said Flitwick after a moment, his curiosity well-hidden. Albus had been heard to sigh that it would be easier to turn Hagrid into a ballet dancer than obtain personal information from Severus.

"Yes," agreed Snape, because he had no option, in the circumstances.

"Particularly after all the trouble Albus went to. However, Harry has known the same facts for over three years. I fail to see any great cause for concern, except that Miss Granger may wish to take a more active role in the fight against Voldemort."

"Thank you for that cheering thought. Any more activity on her part and we could lose her," growled Snape. "It's no thanks to Potter that we haven't already."

"You can hardly blame Harry for the fact Miss Granger is a loyal friend. While, obviously, we don't know everything that goes on between our pupils - and the older they get the more grateful I am for the fact - I find it difficult to imagine she could be forced to act in a way foreign to her nature, no matter how insecure she may have been when she arrived at Hogwarts."

Snape was still disentangling the lengthy sentence, a habit of Flitwick's when he was deep in thought and forgot human speech patterns.

"Your confession to Albus will have to wait because he is with Fudge again," continued Flitwick. "In the meantime, go and enjoy yourself - and don't hurry back. You've earned the break. Oh, Severus?"

He turned, his eyebrows raised in query.

"Thank you for what you did for my dearest Ceres. I can't tell you the pleasure those seeds will give her. I'm in your debt. I know the trouble you must have gone to."

Waving that aside with his usual farouche manner where compliments were concerned, Snape headed up the stairs at a run.

 

Hurrying out of Serpens Tower, Snape twitched the ruffles at his cuffs one more time. While it galled him to admit it, even to himself, he felt nervous at the thought of meeting the greatest living Potions Master. He was so preoccupied that he walked past Hermione without even noticing her.

Taken aback when he failed to acknowledge her stilted greeting, because she couldn't think what she could have done to offend him, Hermione turned to stare after Snape as he strode down the corridor. He looked austerely elegant - and unfamiliar - in evening dress, the severity of the superbly cut black suit relieved only by the white ruffles at the wrist and the fall of lace at his throat. The rapid staccato of his boot heels faltered when he had to swerve at the far end of the corridor to avoid walking into Sirius Black, who stepped out into his path to intercept him.

"I want a word with you, you bastard."

Snape subjected him to a lengthy survey. "Yes? Well, I hope you enjoyed it because that's all you're getting."

Black's hand shot out, gripping Snape by the upper arm. "You're not going anywhere."

Snape's razor-edged smile was disquieting enough to make the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stir. Even Black released him and took an involuntary step away from danger.

"I'll be interested to see how you imagine you can stop me," purred Snape. It was an unmistakable challenge and goad in one.

Even from where she stood Hermione could feel the antagonism quivering in the air between the two very different men. Without being aware of it, she hurried towards them.

"You know I can't," said Black, his voice thick with loathing. "I don't possess half your power any more. But that doesn't mean I'll stand by and see you put Remus through hell. Where are you in such rush to get to? Oh, you're off whoring again. No surprise that you've had to resort to buying it."

He stepped in close again to run his hand down the lapel of Snape's immaculately cut frock coat and Hermione suddenly had the sense she was missing an important clue. Black gave the fabric a contemptuous flick.

"It will take more than expensive tailoring to make anyone want you."

"Yes? Faulty memory as well as all your other problems?" inquired Snape, cocking his head. The intimacy in his silky voice stroked down Hermione's spine and stopped her in her tracks.

First Phryne, now Mr Black. She wondered with a trace of bitterness how many others might be in the queue. Although how Snape and Black managed not to kill one another for long enough to...

Black flinched. "Never mind that," he said as he made a blustering recovery. "You selfish git! It will have slipped your mind that Remus should have had his first dose of potion this morning. He would have, except we couldn't gain entrance to your laboratory because of all the wards you use. Do you have any idea what today has been like for him?" His face was congested with rage as he literally spat out the words.

His eyes burning blackly in the pallor of his face, Snape gave him a look of contempt.

"As usual, you fail to understand anything of importance. I gave Remus the counter charms before I left this morning. You can hardly hold me responsible if he failed to remember them."

"You told him - ? You expected him to be able to cope with something that complex the day before he transforms! It takes all his energy just to stay on his feet and remain coherent. Today, between the worry you wouldn't be back in time and - You supercilious git, you don't have a clue what he goes through, do you? Sometimes I look into your smug face as you're trying not to retch when he gets too close to you and... I could kill you." The sound Black made deep in his throat was eerily reminiscent of his animal form.

Snape looked unimpressed.

"I suppose it's futile to expect cogent argument from an idiot but growling at me isn't going to achieve anything. You might want to consider spending less time in your animal form - it's starting to take over what little brain you possess. One of these days someone will put you on a permanent choke chain. Until that happy occasion you may find this useful."

He flicked his wand into view, murmured something Hermione couldn't hear and tossed a coiled length of something brown at Black's feet - it was a leather dog collar and lead.

His hands clenching into fists, Black's handsome face was suffused with colour. He was exuding violence like a scent.

Snape gave another of those insufferable smiles, something behind his eyes warning of how badly things were about to go out of control. "If you think you're capable of matching me," he taunted, as if Black had voiced a challenge.

Uncomprehending, Hermione watched the contest of wills, becoming aware of undercurrents and back stories of which she had no knowledge.

"Match you? I could snap you like the dry stick you are," sneered Black.

"You're welcome to try," invited Snape, his long fingers beckoning Black towards him as he gave the chilling smile of a shark.

"I'll do more than try," snarled Black, his wand in his hand by this time.

In front of Hermione's appalled eyes the years dropped from both men as they assumed the street-fighter's pose common to many young wizards about to duel but even Harry and Draco didn't carry this burden of hate. Power swirled around them in an almost visible cloud as they circled on the balls of their feet, violence a hair's-breadth away.

Terrified that either wizard might do something irrevocable, she ran forward until she stood between them. "Stop this before you kill each other. You're behaving like first years!" Her voice was high-pitched and thin with fright because while their behaviour might be juvenile she could feel the press of power all around her; the emanations from Snape were particularly strong.

Hazed by the evening sunlight pouring in through the large windows, Snape straightened, then turned his back on Black to give her his undivided attention. Passion spent, his gaze was so devoid of warmth that it made her flinch but he slipped his wand back under the cuff of his jacket.

"You forget who you are addressing. Because it is the holiday period you have been allowed a certain latitude. You just crossed the boundary, Miss Granger."

"Perhaps I did but we're supposed to be working together to defeat Voldemort, not fighting each other," she said sturdily, refusing to be intimidated.

Snape studied her at length. "The least you could do is spare me this mawkish pap," he said at last, his measured delivery eloquent of his weariness at having to deal with her. "You're very young, of course. Too young to know your limitations - or even to believe you have any. For all your intelligence you lack subtlety and finesse and you're naive in the extreme. Your habit of lecturing others is - at best - unattractive. You have feelings that do you credit but you have yet to understand that you haven't been handpicked by destiny to set right any matter which appears to you to be maladjusted. Cease to interest yourself in my affairs - or me - and we shall get on a great deal better. To put it bluntly, Miss Granger, your childish officiousness is a tiresome distraction we could do without. Do I make myself clear?"

She had imagined she was braced for his angry response; anger would have been far kinder. Feeling stripped of several layers of skin she tried and failed to reply.

There was no pity in him as he watched the effect his speech had on her; he knew too well how best to inflict injury - and to match the verbal weapons to their intended victim. He rebuilt his dignity at the cost of stripping Hermione of hers. "I'm waiting, Miss Granger."

"Yes," she whispered, struggling to stop her chin from wobbling, "I understand."

"Excellent. Don't let me detain you further."

"But - "

"One more word and I shall insist that you be found other accommodation, where it is impossible for you to spy on the staff."

"It's all right, Hermione," said Black from behind her. "I'm sorry if we frightened you," he added. "If it helps, it would have been a punch-up, not a duel."

While she nodded, she couldn't speak. Turning slowly, so it shouldn't look as if she was running away, she headed through the first open door to which she came. She had taken only half a dozen steps before she almost walked into someone running at speed.

"Miss Granger! Hermione? What can be so bad that you must upset yourself like this?" asked Lupin, his hand resting on her shoulder.

She gestured helplessly behind her and he moved the necessary few paces until he could see down the corridor to where Snape still stood, Black beyond him.

"Ah," Lupin breathed, his shoulders slumping, as if they had just taken on a new burden. "I'm sorry. You obviously got caught in the cross-fire. Stay here." He stepped into the corridor.

"What have you done now, Sirius?" He sounded unutterably weary and Snape's eyes narrowed as he took in Lupin's deteriorating physical condition.

"What makes you suppose I've done anything?" Black's angry gaze dropped to the collar and lead at his feet. Bending, he swept them up to dangle the soft leather from his fingers. "Severus and I quarrelled. This was his present to me."

Lupin studied the collar and lead. "That's in character. He's always excelled at blasting through any chink in the armour. But I've said that and more to you myself."

"That's different."

"Enough to brawl like hormonal teenagers?"

Black fell silent for a moment. "I never claimed to be perfect," he muttered sulkily.

"Just as well, don't you think?" Lupin's voice was cutting. "But of course, you don't think. And you have to start Sirius. I can't... You have take responsibility for your own actions." It was clear he had forgotten their audience, forgotten everything but the man in front of him.

"Yes," said Black at last. "And I do try. It's just... Sometimes I get so angry and it... I should have stayed in Azkaban," he whispered, his face haunted.

Hermione was astonished to see Snape, who had obviously forgotten he was in her line of vision, wince. That - the last reaction she would have expected from him - was enough to remind her of the complexity of relationships. She'd been a fool to think you could spend a couple of hours with anyone and gain more than a snapshot. She looked up to find Snape staring at her with obvious distaste. Standing her ground, she matched him, stare for stare. Today, she'd obtained several major pieces of the Snape jigsaw puzzle and she'd learnt enough of him to know she would be punished for that. She wondered, with a twist of pity, how many times someone had to be hurt to make that their instinctive reaction to any hint of emotional intimacy.

Of course, she could just be fooling herself and he'd simply been performing a tedious escort duty for a nosy schoolgirl...

The thought was unbearable and there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge of how important Snape had become to her.

The sound of Lupin's raised voice jolted her back.

"That was a cheap shot even by your standards, Sirius!" Fidgeting, he was too preoccupied to notice the hurt on Black's face. While he looked down, he made no attempt to defend himself.

"The fight was my fault. I said some... I didn't know he had bothered to give you the counter charms that will unlock the laboratory before he left."

"Oh, for - !" Lupin visibly tried to control his temper. "Did you ask me? Of course you didn't! That would be far too easy. Did you even take any useful steps to solving the problem like consulting March Flitwick? Why would you? Far easier to blame Severus. All day you've been battering at my senses like a toddler at a drum. I know you hate this. Do you think I like it? You think I enjoy losing a part of my life every month? The knowledge of what I am. That I want to be dependent on a man who has trained himself to tolerate me? Just... Go away, Sirius... I don't have the energy to deal with you any more. Not today." He ran a shaking hand over his face, then hugged his own torso.

The grief on Black's face made Hermione stopper her mouth with her hand as she suddenly appreciated the depths of the relationship between Lupin and Black.

"Remus, you don't mean - "

"Stop fucking telling me what I think and feel and mean and... Go!" yelled Lupin, obviously at the end of his tether.

Black had the belated sense to keep quiet as Lupin swung away, trying in a pathetic show of dignity to smooth his shaggy hair and straighten his shabby clothing.

After a moment or two Snape drifted over to where Lupin stood, still trying to catch his breath. Snape paused as he noticed how close to Lupin Hermione was standing.

"Is there no end to your meddling, Miss Granger? Go away. This is no concern of yours. If you don't understand the concept of privacy I shall be happy to explain it at length at a later date. Now go, I've seen all I care to of you for one day."

Despite her attempts to rationalise what Snape had said she was already raw from his excoriating appraisal of her character. That cutting dismissal hurt worst of all, confirming her greatest fear. Wanting only to hide, Hermione left without another word.

"That was brutal," said Lupin quietly.

"It was necessary," retorted Snape. What had he been thinking? Except, of course, thinking had been the last thing he'd done, ready - and eager - to brawl like a teenage thug. It would have been so satisfying to settle accounts with Black. Instead, Hermione had stepped between them, risking... Adrenalin still pumping through him, he couldn't remember exactly what he had said to her - from her devastated expression he must have been on form, even if he had been punishing her more for her interrogation technique. How Potter and Weasley put up with her interference and infernal probing...

It had been the perfect opportunity for her to throw his past in his face but it didn't seem to have occurred to her. He would never understand Gryffindors... Or perhaps it was just because she was a woman.

Snape refocused to find Lupin staring at him.

"What?" demanded Snape, spoiling for a fight.

"Miss Granger was safe from harm," said Lupin. "I would never endanger a student or - " His battered controls failed him for a moment and his voice broke before it steadied again.

Snape grimaced, exhaled and took the rare step of explaining himself. "I know that. Intellectually. But better to err on the side of caution. She's had about all the emotional turmoil she can deal with for one day." It belatedly occurred to him how much he had just added to it.

Lupin sighed. "I'd forgotten. A difficult day for all concerned, I'll be bound." Every line on his thin face seemed accentuated.

"When do we ever have anything else?" retorted Snape, before his tone smoothed out. "Come. The potion requires only a few minutes to heat." It took all his control to stand this close and not show his revulsion; the feral reek Lupin was emitting was so strong he felt sick and dizzy from it. Memories flooding back, he controlled the impulse to flee.

"I apologise for bothering you when you were obviously on your way out for the evening. I can see to it," said Lupin awkwardly. He looked to be in some discomfort. His attempt to smile was a poor thing but the courage which inspired it caught Snape like a blow in the solar plexus. He had never respected Lupin more.

"I have no intention of allowing you to change my plans," he said waspishly. "That said, it will be quicker in the long run if I prepare the potion. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can leave. Rakoczi's speaking at the House of Mirth later this evening. And yes, of course, I'll give you a full report. Can you walk unaided?" he added, as he continued to monitor Lupin's condition.

"Take my arm," said Black in a subdued tone. His eyes wary and unhappy, he was obviously apprehensive of the reception he would receive.

Glancing at him, Lupin gave him a look of sheer affection. "You can be such a - You know how much Severus has done for me in the last two years."

"More than me, you mean? Do you think I don't know that!" Black fell silent. A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw but he had himself under better control now. He stared at Snape, his eyes stormy. "The duel was as much my fault as yours."

"Duel?" said Lupin sharply, fear in his eyes.

"If that's what a fist fight is called these days," drawled Snape. "Relax, Remus. I'm well aware of Sirius' many limitations. A duel was never a realistic option, just a tempting one. It won't happen again," he added, facing up to an unpalatable truth.

"You think I couldn't take you in a duel?" demanded Black.

"I know you're not going to find out," said Snape flatly.

"What's brought about this unconvincing change of heart?" asked Black with suspicion.

"The memory of a promise I made to Albus."

The wind taken out of his sails, Black continued to glare at him for a few seconds more before he slumped. "Oh. He made you promise too?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah." Black rubbed the back of his neck. "I was wrong to say what I did," he mumbled, sounding as if every word was choking him. "I apologise."

Snape studied him, unimpressed.

"The earth rocks on its axis, small birds drop from the sky. And all because Sirius Black apologises. Save it for someone who cares what you think."

Resolute in his determination to do better, Black swallowed the insult and tried again. "Albus told me you agreed to Harry spending the last two weeks of the holidays here," he said, his manner subdued.

Taken aback, Snape half-turned to give him a look of suspicion.

"The headmaster has never required my agreement for any action he takes. You give me too much credit."

"Or perhaps it is that you fail to give yourself any," said Lupin. "Sirius, I'm in good hands. Go and see if Miss Granger is all right."

"Me? I'm not the one who reduced her to tears," Black protested, before he met the concerted stares of Lupin and Snape and gave a sigh of defeat.

"All right, I'll go."

 

Removing the wards from the concealed door, Snape ushered Lupin into his laboratory, which occupied the top floor of Serpens Tower. Light flooded into the entire room from the vast windows. Screening Charms protected the often volatile ingredients stored in large cupboards from the light and heat, while providing anyone working in the room with privacy. The sun was about to set and the room was flooded with a warm apricot light.

"I don't know why I set the wards in the holidays - habit, I suppose," said Snape, in the closest he would come to an apology.

As he spoke he lit a cauldron, set the previously prepared Wolfsbane Potion to boil and took out a goblet and pair of protective gauntlets ready for use later. The potion was helpful to werewolves, controlling the time of transformation almost to the minute, while reducing the physical trauma of the event, but when it reached boiling point it was corrosive to the skin of those not afflicted. With no diversion left to him Snape glanced at Lupin, who was pacing edgily up and down the room, casting impatient looks at the cauldron. His eyes flicked everywhere but seemed to notice nothing and the feral reek he exuded was intensifying with every step he took, along with the sense of power gathering.

Snape frowned. There had been nothing in all the research he had done, not to mention the exhaustive tests on Lupin, to indicate that the Wolfsbane Potion was addictive, yet Lupin was displaying many of the signs of a wizard suffering from addiction. Small trickles of magic flared from the sleeve of his shabby jacket and Snape debated the wisdom of trying to relieve the other man of his wand before abandoning the idea; it required him to get far too close.

He grimaced and ran a hand back through his hair, which was already escaping from the neat queue in which it had been fastened. It was a pity that snivelling little twerp Longbottom didn't know just how much of a coward his own personal Boggart was in comparison to the pasty-faced idiot of a boy who had never missed a Potions lesson.

The idea that he was out-classed by Neville Longbottom was all the spur he required. Pausing to take several increasingly unsteady breaths, hyperventilating a distinct possibility, Snape collected one of the leather bags of Galleons which were sitting on a work top. Wondering why he hadn't got more used to this over the months, he made himself go over to Lupin, who whirled around fast enough to make him flinch back a pace before he could control the response. Rather than respecting his body space, Lupin stepped into it again.

"The potion?" he said hoarsely, taking the bag before he realised what it contained.

"A minute or so longer, no more."

Lupin held out the bag, gesturing for Snape to take it.

"Severus, I can't keep - "

"So! Not content with making him beg for it, you're bloody well making him pay for it!"

Storming into the room with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop, Black knocked the bag of coins from Lupin's hands, before swinging around to punch Snape.

The drawstring top of the bag loose, Galleons flew through the air, some spilling into the cauldron. The consequences were immediate and violent. The cauldron exploded, purple liquid fountaining up before splattering down.

Snape and Black leapt in opposite directions, taking what shelter they could find from the fall-out.

Blood streaming from the cut above his eyebrow, Snape scrambled to his feet. Having used his hands to protect his head, he flicked thickening purple gunge from them. His hands were already splotched scarlet with small areas of raw flesh, where they weren't stained purple. Viscous liquid dripped from his ruined clothes, although they had withstood the ravages of the potion better than human skin. Snape's expression was one of disbelief as he absorbed the extent of the disaster, before he glared at Black.

"You witless - ! The gold has corrupted the potion. All the potion. It's useless to Remus now and it will take me three days to make a fresh batch, by which time - "

The snuffling sound which came from behind him stopped Snape dead. Eyes wide, colour draining from his face, he slowly turned to find Lupin fifteen feet away, staring at him with a terrifying intensity.

Not Lupin, screamed a small voice in the back of his head, atavistic senses urging flight. But his feet seemed rooted to the spot. The snuffling noises grew louder, accompanied by a disconcerting rasping sound. Saliva trickled from the corners of Lupin's slackened mouth. His eyes fixed on his prey with a terrifying intensity, he slowly stalked Snape with a lurching gait more reminiscent of a zombie.

"The blood! He - It can smell your blood. Run!" yelled Black, already hurtling towards the thing which was, as yet, neither man nor beast but a horrible amalgam of both.

His worst nightmare taking shape in front of him, Snape was frozen to the spot.

"Severus, move!" Hurdling a fallen high-legged stool Black stumbled, lost his balance and crashed into the workbench holding a set of small silver cauldrons.

The noise they made as they fell to the floor distracted the creature from its blood hunt.

"Severus!" yelled Black. Back on his feet, he scooped a small cauldron from the counter and threw it at Snape, striking him on the shoulder.

That small pain was enough to galvanise Snape back into the present.

"Accio!"

Wand in hand, Snape put Lupin in a full Binding Spell, closed the small gap between them and grabbed what had been the nape of Lupin's neck until it began to sprout coarse grey fur, and Disapparated from the laboratory. He looked as terrified as any man holding an about-to-transform werewolf had the right to be.

"Prospero save us," whispered Black, and it had the sound of a prayer.

For a moment he couldn't think what he must do before he shut his eyes and concentrated hard enough to turn his face crimson before he finally managed to Disapparate.


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

 

It was only as he materialised in the Shrieking Shack that Black realised panic had brought him to the retreat of their teenage years rather than the dungeon which Dumbledore had arranged to be specially adapted for Remus' use. Heavily protected by wards and a Screening Charm, the unused area was on the other side of the castle from Snape's classroom and official office and uninviting enough to keep even the nosiest pupil away.

With a muttered 'Fuck it', Black stopped dead, concentrated until he was puce in the face and Disapparated again.

He materialised in the dungeon to find it was all over.

 

The ugly gagging sounds the werewolf was making seemed to bounce off the dungeon walls, filling the space between them with an abomination of noise. Caged, the creature prowled with its distinctive lurching gait along its enforced perimeter, throwing itself at the bars every few seconds, its rasping howls of rage intensifying with each failure.

Snape was slumped on the floor a safe distance away. There was no blood or obvious sign of injury so Black's attention returned to what had been his lover only a few minutes ago.

No one who saw the creature would ever mistake it for a wolf, but nor was it a man. Its malevolent red-eyed glare always on the source of food just beyond its reach, the werewolf was constantly assessing and checking for a means of getting to its prey. The gurgling noise from deep in its throat intensified as Black drew closer.

"Oh, Remus," he whispered. Normally he would have transformed into his animal form and remained with Lupin through every stage, helping to keep him centred so that the most important part of him didn't become lost.

He belatedly remembered his other, unwanted, responsibility.

"Are you all right?" The torches unlit, it was difficult to see much beyond the eyes of the werewolf glowing in the dark. "Lumos!" added Black impatiently, using the light which appeared at the end of his wand to illuminate the torches set around the walls.

The werewolf reacted badly but there was no response from the man racked by tremors as if he had the ague. Staring through him, Snape's eyes were lifeless holes in a Kabuki mask, his skin drum-tight over the bones of his face. He held his raw-looking hands out in front of him.

"Severus?" Gaining no reply, Black crouched down. His attempt to grasp Snape's shoulder was deflected by a jarring blow from Snape's forearm as the other man came roaring back to life.

"Don't touch me!"

Black slumped back on his heels. "I wasn't going to hurt you. If - "

"Don't be a prick," dismissed Snape, in something approaching his usual tone. "You were caught by the potion and have open sores. I could contaminate you. While Rem - It - didn't bite me, I got some saliva on me when... Getting out of the cage was difficult."

Preoccupied as he was, even Black could recognise understatement when he heard it. Snape's shredded frock coat confirmed just how difficult it must have been.

"Did it scratch you?"

Snape shrugged. "I don't know."

Black used his wand to cut away the ruined jacket and shirt to bare Snape's torso. There were darkening splotches where bruises would form but no scratches.

"Clear," he said, before he frowned when he noticed Snape's ruined hands. "Did any saliva catch an open wound?"

"I don't know," Snape said again, his expression closed. "Tonight there's a full moon. I could turn at any time. Is there any chance of something warm to wear or do you intend to leave me to freeze to death?"

"Oh. Yeah. Here." Black conjured up one of his robes.

Snape eyed it without enthusiasm.

"It's that or nothing. We can't all afford designer outfits."

Snape shrugged it on, his sore fingers clumsy on the small catches. "You'll need to take my wand. Not with your hand, idiot. I'm surrounded by idiots," he muttered peevishly.

"I can't take that," Black protested, taking hope from the fact Snape was still insulting him.

"You'd rather risk one of the most powerful wizards in Hogwarts stalking the corridors, about to transform, with a wand in his hand?" said Snape savagely. "We don't know how much time I have before... For once in your life will you just do as I say without arguing." He had the sound of man close to breaking point.

"All right, all right," Black soothed. "Accio!" Snape's wand slid into his hand: at twelve and a half inches it was larger than his own and a pleasing creamy-brown colour. While it looked different from the wand he remembered hexing him in the first year, he had learnt to mistrust his memory in recent years.

"What wood is this?" he asked, trying to dismiss the disconcerting sense of intimacy that holding Snape's wand gave him.

"Ash, with a phoenix tail feather core."

The wand settled into his hand as if it belonged there. "It feels far heavier than mine." The urge to test it was strong.

"What do you expect, it belongs to a Death Eater." It was impossible to tell if Snape was being sarcastic or not.

That was the trouble with Slytherins, thought Black savagely, they would never give you a straight answer if they could think of a crooked one. Aware of a faint thrumming he changed his grip on the wand when he realised he had been about to use it. He looked up guiltily to where Snape sat watching him, a sardonic twist to his mouth.

"I wouldn't try it out without your permission," Black said, aware of how close he had come to doing just that.

"I wouldn't advise it," said Snape dryly. "Nero Goyle tried to use my wand to inflict the Cruciatus on me a couple of months ago. I don't think he'll be trying that again for a while. The Dark Lord wasn't at all pleased with the result. Fortunately he put it down to Goyle's stupidity."

"You've protected your wand?" said Black, impressed. He'd never heard of that being done before.

Snape gave him a look of scorn. "I wouldn't know how to begin - or even if it's possible. But Goyle's an idiot and..."

"...the wand chooses the wizard. No wonder you're such an arrogant git," grinned Black, but he sounded almost admiring. Taking some care, he stored Snape's wand in the inside pocket designed for such a purpose. "I'll keep it safe for you," he added, beginning to appreciate what Snape was feeling. He wouldn't want Snape looking after his wand if their positions had been reversed.

"You'd better. I've had that wand since I was twenty one. Put me in a full body-bind. Don't use Petrificus Totalus or I won't be able to speak."

"And this would be a disadvantage because...? Sorry," Black muttered, when Snape glared at him.

"Not at all. Just so long as one of us is enjoying this. You do know the other spell, I presume?"

Black's palms began to sweat. "I do if you'll keep quiet and let me concentrate. I'd rather get this right the first time."

Before Snape could offer his thoughts thin rope bindings were whipping around him. He gave a grunt of discomfort as he toppled onto his side. "I wish I could believe that was accidental." He was so latticed with rope that he looked like some bizarre fetish.

"Stop judging everyone by your standards of behaviour."

"You mean you didn't intend this? I knew you were clumsy but if you can't even manage a simple Body Binding Charm without all this rope there's not - "

"Since Azkaban everything's an effort and... I use what works, all right!" Black swung away from him. "Are those ropes too tight?" he asked a short time later.

"No," said Snape, having swallowed the first three retorts which had sprung to mind. "Clear the dungeon next door. If you can't create a cage, see what else there is in there to restrain me."

"Why don't you stay - ?"

"No! Not in here," said Snape, staring into the red eyes that were unpleasantly reminiscent of Voldemort, even if these were set in the face of a werewolf.

 

Her stomach clenched in a cold knot of misery, her face hot with humiliation as she kept replaying Snape's assessment of her in her head, Hermione wandered forlornly around her new chambers. Rationalise what drove him all she might, all she could hear was the contemptuous bite in Snape's voice as he sent her away.

Every time she thought she had crept through one of his barriers another ten snapped up in her face. He had left her in no doubt of his feelings - not that his opinion had come as a surprise. 'Bossy' was one of the kindest words which had followed her through childhood and beyond. Even Ron and Harry had thought...

But he couldn't have expected her to stand by and watch them duel - or even worse, fight physically. He wouldn't have stood a chance against the far heavier Black.

Despite the familiar items she had unpacked her new home still felt alien. She went and sat beside Crookshanks, who was sprawled over one of the cushioned window seats with only the tip of his tail moving as he watched the falcon hovering a few feet from the open window. Situated on the top floor of the main part of the castle, her rooms were protected by Gryffin and Serpens Towers, which housed the chambers of Professors McGonagall and Snape, although Serpens Tower was screened from view.

Madam Pomfrey had told her that Snape's laboratory occupied the top floor of Serpens Tower, which disposed of the widely held supposition that he had no life beyond the dungeons. Wise after the event, it seemed obvious that he would have his own laboratory for any serious work, far away from interruptions and possible sabotage by pupils. It belatedly occurred to Hermione to wonder if Snape had been as ignorant as she had assumed about her deprivations of his 'private' store cupboard. But it was a relief to know he had a life beyond the dank depression of the dungeons and the bottled horrors which lined the walls of his office. She, along with the rest of the students, had bought the image the staff had conspired to create. A simple pause for thought made it obvious the dungeons were the last place an academic would live because of the potential damage to their books and parchments. From the way she had seen him seeking out the sun, the dungeons would probably be his last choice of location, although it had to be admitted that they certainly helped along the Snape legend. Though with that tongue he didn't need much help.

Her chambers seemed vast by anyone's standards: the living room was larger than the ground floor of her parents' house and there was also a bedroom and private bathroom with fittings so luxurious she could only wonder about the last occupant - and then give thanks. She shared the floor with Madam Pomfrey, Professor Lupin - and presumably Mr Black - and Madam Hooch. While Professors Sprout and Flitwick officially occupied the towers of their respective Houses, they actually shared a cosy set of chambers on the floor below her. What she still wasn't clear about was how any of the staff were accessible to their students.

Feeling very alone, she scooped up Crookshanks, much to his vocal displeasure, and buried her face in his fur as she fought off a wave of self-pity.

The knock on her door sounded so formal that she was certain it must be Snape. Her smile hardly faltered on seeing Professors Sprout and Flitwick, hand in hand and beaming at her with such affection that it was impossible not to respond. It took a moment to disentangle their warm enthusiasm at the idea of introducing her to the House of Mirth.

"Intellectual rigour, that's the thing," said Flitwick happily.

"And laughter, and good company," added Sprout. "You have thirty minutes to dress in your finest clothes. We're going on holiday until Remus is back."

Taken in hand, Hermione was smiling with anticipation as they walked down to the main gates to Disapparate, the bar to Apparating within Hogwarts now back in place.

 

Using the Mobilicorpus Black moved Snape to the adjoining cell. Feeling as if he had collided with every available hard space, Snape studied his new home. This was half the size of the other cell, and even colder, the far wall running with so much damp that it was supporting a fine crop of bog-mould. The floor was unspeakable and the stink brought him close to retching point.

"I've cleaned it up a bit," said Black, unnerved by the other man's lack of response. His voice echoed in the emptiness. "You can see the manacles embedded in the wall and ceiling. I found you something to sit on." He gestured to a baroque, almost throne-like chair, so elaborately carved that the back and sides looked like lace.

The bindings falling away, Snape just saved himself from falling to the floor. His expression schooled, he sat where indicated. The links of the chains were immense, but the chains were long enough to allow him to walk for several paces yet prevented him from reaching anyone coming through the door. The sheer weight of them meant he wouldn't be moving anywhere he didn't have to; he toyed with the notion of a Lifting Spell but decided against it. Black's skills weren't to be relied upon and he wasn't about to use wandless magic - the temptation to keep doing so would be too great and his record at resisting temptation left something to be desired.

His expression set against betrayal, he closed the manacles around each wrist, then one ankle and was immediately aware of the press of them which came from more than just their weight. "Well don't just stand there, lock them," he said, his tone sharp and irritable to conceal just how much he loathed this.

Concentrating, Black sealed the heavy manacles and then watched as Snape methodically tested each one.

Snape raised his eyebrows when he realised he was under surveillance. "Satisfied? You should be. This must be a dream come true for you." While his expression was schooled to one of chilly disdain, his body language betrayed his true feelings.

Experiencing more empathy than he wanted, Black scowled. "Not as much as you might think. From the thickness of those links and cuffs they can't have been intended for anything human. Uh. Sorry," he added, when he received a sardonic look. "But they won't hold you when - if - you transform."

"They will if you add a Specific Shrinking Charm to the ward so that it will activate the moment contact with my skin is reduced. Can you do that?"

"I think so."

"Be certain or we'll need to think of some other means of restraining me. There isn't any room for error."

"Don't lecture me. I'm not one of your poor bloody students," retorted Black.

"No, I expect more of them. Can you do it?"

"It won't be elegant, but yes, I can. I've learnt a lot from working with March - Charms have always been one of my strengths. There must be some test for Lycanthropy we can do. Surely you could do it if I put wards on the door of your laboratory, or if you used your classroom?"

"You think I haven't considered that? It's too dangerous. You saw how fast Remus transformed."

Black shivered. "What about Poppy? Can she do the test?"

"Probably. Unfortunately, everyone has probably already left Hogwarts for a short holiday until Remus is back with us. Albus is with the Ministry and Freyja Hooch is still in Norway. Something about Hagrid and a Ridgeback. Ceres and March might be back before Remus transforms to carry on the work of strengthening the wards around the castle. Not that I'd let either of them anywhere near a cauldron. If they do come back don't tell them what's happened - until you need to. They can't do anything useful and their solicitude would drive me mad."

"Lucky you've only got me then," said Black, before he remembered why they were in this predicament. "This is my fault," he recognised dully. "All this is my fault."

Snape gave him a tired look. "Just worked that out, have you? Congratulations, you've finally got your wish after all these years."

"That's a foul thing to say! I've never - ! Well, only for... I didn't think back then."

"And so much has changed. Just get me a bucket."

"What do you want a bucket for?"

"To piss in, what else?" said Snape crudely.

"Oh. Right," said Black, deflated.

"Sirius." Snape slowly inhaled. "If I do escape - kill me."

Black stared at him in disbelief, colour draining from his face when he realised Snape meant it. "I can't do that!"

"Learn fast."

"I mean, I know how but... I won't. I couldn't!"

Snape gave an unsteady sigh. "I forgot Azkaban. Albus would never give you up to the Dementors. There's no one to care if you killed me," he added matter of factly.

About to explode, Black fell silent, chilled to his core when he realised Snape believed that. "You're an emotional cretin," he said brutally. " I admit I could cheerfully strangle you most days but I am not about to murder you in cold or any other blood. Clear?"

"Don't!" said Snape, managing to evade the hands reaching out to shake some sense into him.

Stilling, Black stared down at him, calm now. "If I could change things - this - I would."

Snape just looked up at him. Little by little the muscles of his face began to relax. "I know," he said at last, sounding as if he was having teeth pulled.

"Can I ask you something?" said Black abruptly.

"You can ask." Snape's tone wasn't encouraging.

"That bag of money Remus was holding earlier. He wasn't paying you. We've been living off your charity all these months, haven't we?"

Snape stared up at him in disbelief. "What?"

"We're your pensioners. Charity cases."

Burying his head in his hands, Snape gave a moan of sheer frustration. "Only you would worry about that at a time like this! Who the fuck cares? It's money. I have so much I'll never miss it, so don't waste your time trying to give me any credit - or imagine some masterly plot. I won't be blackmailing you for your body at any later stage - I don't need to, I've already had you. And once was enough." He cocked his head as Black took an impetuous step forward. "You should find it even easier to hit me now I'm in restraints. You want to fight, I'll be happy to oblige you. But not over something so...trivial. Just go away."

"I can't leave you alone."

Snape looked up then, an expression Black wasn't sure how to interpret in his eyes. "You'd rather stay and bond with me? That's what I thought. Go and sit with Remus."

"I'll be back to check on you," Black said gruffly. "It'll be all right, Severus."

The corners of Snape's mouth turned down in a derisive smile. "Of course it will," he said sardonically.

Self-conscious under Snape's hyper-critical eye Black created the necessary wards around each manacle.

"That's done," he said flatly as it finally sunk in that his lover might have transformed Snape into a werewolf. Whether he had or hadn't there was no way Dumbledore could let them stay at Hogwarts after this. Snape had been right all along. "Why didn't you use Stupefy on Remus?" he asked as the thought occurred to him.

Snape grimaced. "Because I never thought of it. Though I'm not sure it would work on a werewolf."

"I'll have to get Remus' permission to find out," said Black, trying not to panic about where they would go when they left Hogwarts. There were so few places where he would be in a position to protect his lover. Where they wouldn't be spotted, captured and where he would be prepared for the Dementor's Kiss while Remus... What would become of Remus?

"Do you still smoke those revolting clove cheroots?" asked Snape abruptly.

His mind elsewhere, Black gave a dispirited nod.

"Leave me a couple of packets and some matches."

Black set about summoning various items: a bucket, two blankets, cheroots, matches, and a tray with a pot of the strong black tea Snape favoured.

"The pot and packet of cheroots will both keep refilling," said Black, hovering. "Do you want any alcohol?"

"No. When... I'd rather be sober."

"It will be all right. It has to be," Black added feverishly. "It would kill Remus to know he'd transformed anyone."

"He always was a fool," said Snape without emotion.

He winced when the heavy door to his cell thudded shut and the lights blinked out. Weighted down by rusty chains, he sat in the dark listening to the terrible sounds coming from the dungeon next door, waiting for his worst nightmare to come true.

***

 

Losing two and three hour stretches of time in exhausted, troubled sleep, Black stumbled through the next three days and nights. Because his every overture was rejected he spent less and less time with Snape, who made it clear that the last thing he wanted was company. Snape was unable to use the Beardbegone Charm and his appearance went from the sinister to the frankly scary, his heavy black stubble accentuating his pallor and increasingly haggard appearance. He had yet to eat anything, existing on black tea and honey and far too many cheroots. He had retreated so deep into himself that sometimes he seemed not to notice when he did have company, his hollowed, haunted eyes staring at something only he could see.

***

 

Hermione almost floated up the drive to the castle, after spending three of the most intoxicating - and educational - days of her life at the House of Mirth. She was oblivious to the indulgent Professors trailing in her wake. She could never remember feeling this relaxed, yet conversely buzzing with energy, while her mind seemed content just to file information rather than needing to process it.

Her silk domino trailing through the dew-damp grass where it dangled from her fingertips, she hummed a stanza of the complicated poem the Pilgrim of Love called Kristoph had composed in her honour. Not that she had ever thought of her breasts as alabaster doves before - or planned to again. It was probably all thanks to that corset she had bought from Harvey Nichols; even Snape had seemed to approve of it. Kristoph certainly had. Strange that some men saw only a bossy swot while others... Her nipples stiffened at the memory of his mouth on them.

Smiling, she ran up the steps of the castle and stood there waiting for Professors Sprout and Flitwick. She had never realised flirting was an art-form - sex, too. It was a pity there would be no one she could practice her new skills on until the autumn term.

"Oh, the energy of youth," puffed Flitwick, as they finally joined her.

"Thank you for taking me with you," Hermione said. "I had the most wonderful time."

"We could tell," said Flitwick, still dryly disapproving of the opportunities she had frittered away in most untypical fashion.

"You forget my dear, education can be found in many places - the wise remain open to it all," Professor Sprout told him.

Flitwick gave her a speaking look as they entered the castle.

"Oh, March, really. Don't you remember what it was like to be seventeen and meeting your first Pilgrim of Love?"

"Not really," he admitted sadly. "I'm getting old, Ceres."

"You're one hundred and twenty four, exactly two years younger than me - and I certainly don't consider myself old," Professor Sprout bridled.

"Breakfast, I think," said Flitwick quickly. "Will you join us, Miss Granger?" Conscious of his ruffled wife at his side, he gave Hermione a look of pleading, before his expression sharpened to one of concern as he looked beyond her.

"Sirius! You look terrible. What's happened?"

Stranded by the stairs down to the dungeon, Black looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. "Ah. You're back."

"And not before time by the look of you. Perhaps you would care to explain," said Professor Sprout.

Hermione was suddenly conscious of the power emanating from the plump little witch.

"Well, there was a bit of an accident in Snape's laboratory," began Black, looking as guilty as Ron when he was caught out in some misdemeanour.

Hermione left for the dungeons at a run the moment she understood what had happened, her full skirts and lace petticoats billowing out behind her.

 

There was only one other cell left to check in this area of the dungeons. Hermione stood outside, her palm flat against the solid, metal studded oak door as she struggled to control her breathing; corsets weren't conducive to physical exercise, unless it was just terror which had stolen away her ability to breathe. She was afraid to peep through the barred opening, afraid of what she might find. The werewolf in the adjoining cell had fallen quiet and the silence and the darkness were absolute: stiflingly so. Just the atmosphere for a nervy man living out what must be one of his worst nightmares - even for an ex-Death Eater.

Without further ado she opened the door and lit the cell with a flick of her wand.

Startled, Snape lurched to his feet in a jangle of colliding chain links, supporting himself with a hand against the wall as he squinted at the onslaught of light.

Seeing those chains and the way he had to brace himself against their weight, Hermione's only thought was to get rid of them as she headed across the cell.

"Who - ? I should have guessed. Stay there!" Snape commanded hoarsely.

After six years the habit was so ingrained that Hermione obeyed him without question, then scowled as she battened down the various emotions struggling to escape her control.

"You obviously know what has happened or you wouldn't be here poking your nose where it isn't wanted," Snape added unpleasantly. "Spare me any maudlin protestations and go away."

"It's such a comfort to know how consistently you manage to be a bastard," she said, her pulse still racing with the relief of finding him unharmed. "There's never any danger of receiving any taffeta phrases from you, is there. It won't have occurred to you that I'm just here for the pleasure of seeing you where you belong - in a cell. The chains are an unexpected bonus."

For a split second his expression betrayed him, before he shrugged. "What a pity it isn't term time. You could make a fortune selling tickets."

She could have withstood his anger but had no defence against his unquestioning acceptance that she had meant what she had said. But she could still see the flash of hurt before he had regained control of his expression. The reminder of his emotional vulnerability while he looked so ill left her fighting every protective instinct. They were wasted on Snape; try and smother him with affection and he'd chop you off at the knees.

"The thought had occurred to me. You look terrible," she added frankly. "And it has to be said, you smell appalling."

Her cut glass voice was like a cleansing breeze, spectres fading to nothingness in the face of her brisk common sense. It occurred to Snape that its value was greatly under-rated, although it didn't stop him from glaring at her.

"The potion became corrupted and exploded. I got covered in the fall-out. What you can smell is three-day-old potion," he told her coldly, although much of the effect was lost when he sneezed several times in quick succession. He was forced to wipe his nose on the back of his hand before sniffing a couple of times.

"Not all of it. Allergy or common cold?" she added without seeming interest. Lacking a handkerchief, she ripped off a portion of one of her voluminous petticoats and used her wand to hand it to him.

"It's the potion," he said, miffed. He had no intention of accepting sympathy but a token show of concern wouldn't have gone amiss. "I can't smell anything."

"Consider yourself lucky."

Forced to make vigorous use of the makeshift handkerchief after another sneezing fit, Snape made no reply except to reseat himself, giving an unconscious sigh of relief when much of the weight of the chains was removed from his cramping shoulder muscles.

Remaining in the shadows until she was certain her expression wouldn't betray her, Hermione noted in the blood crusted over his right eye and the raw patches on portions of his face and hands. The rest of his skin was stained purple, something thick and foul-smelling clumping his hair together. Three days growth of beard did nothing to improve his looks.

A rasping howl echoed up the corridor, making Snape flinch, his bloodshot eyes widening, before he thought to control the reaction. Hermione tried not to wonder what the seventy-two hours he had spent here must have been like. Wishing fiercely she had the right to comfort him, she moved into the light.

"Right," she said briskly, having to raise her voice against the increased noise coming from the werewolf, "time to make this place more comfortable, given that we're going to be stuck here for another twenty-four hours.

"We? You're not staying here," he said with decision.

"Really? I'll be interested to see how you're going to get rid of me. Mr Black said you made him take away your wand and that you're not using wandless magic for obvious reasons. Given that you haven't eaten or slept for three days I can't see you being capable of much. Heaven only knows why you're making all this fuss, only a masochist would rather stay in a dark, dank hole when he could have comfort, light and warmth. And a bath," she added pointedly, appealing to his vanity.

"Will you stop harping on about how much I smell?" He viewed her small grin of satisfaction without pleasure. "You forget to whom you're talking," he added.

"I wish," said Hermione with feeling. "Now be quiet, I need to concentrate."

Snape opened his mouth to savage her.

Having taken in the horrors of the cell, Hermione's eyes were over-bright as she met his inimical gaze. "I know you think I'm an interfering busybody but I can't bear the thought of you - anyone - spending another second here. Let me do something about this...this hell-hole. Please. I can't bear it," she added in a whisper, faux sophistication falling away under the weight of her distress on his behalf.

"It's fine," he said absently, irritable with the time it was taking him to work anything out. He had thought her remarks earlier were a bluff. She was getting better at the off-the-cuff riposte - for a Gryffindor.

"No. It isn't," she insisted.

"Don't worry about it," he dismissed, distracted by the finer points of her appearance, which were threatening to escape over the top of her low-cut bodice.

The evening dress was undoubtedly new - Gladrags Wizardwear in Hogsmeade High Street had a Parisian branch - but he was willing to swear he knew what she was wearing beneath it. Her breasts were pushed deliciously high and her waist was nipped in, the shot silk of her dress shimmering in the light every time she so much as breathed. She had learnt a new way to decorate her eyes that turned them to gold. Studying the sleek perfection of her glossy hair it was difficult to recall the bushy-haired know-it-all of his classroom.

He was aware of a fierce surge of envy for the undeserving recipient of her attentions. Light-headed from a lack of food and sleep, he tried not to stare.

"Mr Black's an idiot for leaving you in this place," said Hermione, her voice beginning to fail her.

That gained Snape's full attention. "You're not going to start snivelling, are you?" he inquired, looking pained.

Her back straightened. "I don't have an allergy."

"I'm glad to hear it. Are any of the staff back yet?" Snape fished for the now soggy handkerchief, while admitting it was preferable to using his sleeve.

Hermione ripped off another portion of her petticoat and gave it to him. "Professors Sprout and Flitwick - they took me to the House of Mirth."

"Ah," he said, understanding more than he was comfortable with. "Would you ask them to have a word with me? Now," he added, when she didn't move.

"I'm not leaving you here alone."

"I won't be alone once you fetch them." Despite himself he responded to the hurt in her eyes, although it didn't change his determination to get her out of harm's way when...if...anything happened. "I'm considering letting you prepare a potion for me."

"Me?" She stared at him in disbelief.

"Well, I can't do it and until Remus returns to us nor can anyone else. It's fairly complicated but I think you're up to it, although it will require a considerable amount of your time..."

Five minutes later he had the satisfaction of seeing her go off to his dungeon classroom to prepare an innocuous but complicated potion that would remove the purple staining from his skin. And with the instructions he had given her it should keep her busy well into the evening.

Having arrived several minutes ago, Professor Sprout eyed him thoughtfully.

"Not a word," Snape warned her, interpreting her expression without much difficulty.

"As if," she said. "Now, let's make this wretched cell more comfortable."

Snape glanced at Flitwick, who shrugged. "Never try to fight the nesting instinct. Besides, you smell worse than Hagrid's dog."

Snape gave an offended huff and fell silent, although his expression spoke volumes.

 

Smelling only of soap and shampoo, Snape donned a clean robe and ate the food bought for him without too much argument. Ignoring his muttered complaints, Professor Sprout performed some basic first aid and the Beardbegone Charm, which had the advantage of making Snape appear more approachable even if it did nothing to sweeten his temper.

"Now we're all more comfortable you'll enjoy hearing about Rakoczi's lecture," Flitwick squeaked happily.

Snape looked blank and it occurred to Flitwick how long ago that must seem to the younger man. He persevered and had the satisfaction of knowing he had engaged Snape's mind as the day headed towards evening.

Exhaustion meant that Snape was prone to falling asleep mid-sentence, only to start awake minutes later, the unspoken fear in his eyes saying what he would not. It was a mark of just how tired he was that he failed to notice Hermione sitting on the floor, her back to the door jamb of the cell, where she had been for several hours.

"It's almost dawn," noted Professor Sprout, smudges of fatigue under her eyes.

"Go to bed," Snape said roughly.

Professor Sprout's trenchant reply made Hermione blink in astonishment, although Snape gave his first genuine grin for some days.

Black gave Hermione a look of puzzlement as he stepped over her to enter the cell but he was too preoccupied to comment. "Remus is transforming," he announced tiredly. "As soon as he's able I'll get to him make the potion, though I may have to help him. He's rarely very steady for the first few hours."

"That reassures me," said Snape, fighting not to fidget as tension screamed through him.

"Where should we work?"

Snape tried to concentrate, something which was becoming increasingly difficult as his lack of sleep caught up with him. "You'll need to use my laboratory. The workshop off my classroom doesn't have everything he'll need. Get Miss Granger to help you," he added, as he noticed her for the first time. "Don't forget to clean the room before you step over the threshold - the house elves know better than to go in there without my express permission - there might be werewolf saliva splattered around. Don't break anything."

"We won't," said Hermione.

"It didn't occur to me that you might," said Snape. "You did well with that stain-removing potion."

"Particularly as you didn't need it," said Hermione without resentment. She got to her feet. "I'll start the cleaning so Mr Black can stay with Professor Lupin." She had changed into a simple dress in a shade of green which couldn't be said to flatter her.

"No. There's not that much hurry. Wait for the others," Snape said.

"But - "

"It wasn't a request, Miss Granger. Talented you may be, a student you remain. Wait for the others."

"It would have been quicker to tell her you were worried she might come to harm," murmured Professor Sprout as Hermione scowled at Snape to hide her hurt before leaving the cell.

"I might yet transform but I haven't lost my mind," he retorted, noting that his sense of smell seemed to be improving.

 

The next two hours dragged, the lines around Snape's eyes and mouth deepening as the minutes ticked by.

There was a noise outside the cell and he got to his feet, propping himself against the wall to withstand the weight of the chains; Lupin walked in, Black and Hermione behind him. Black held the tray on which sat Snape's wand, a container holding three phials of dark brown liquid, a pipette, a silver knife and another phial of dark green liquid.

"I'm sorry you've had to wait so long," said Lupin in his quiet voice. "It would have been even longer without Miss Granger's assistance. Here." He walked up to Snape's side, crouched down and offered him the tray.

The use of the silver knife was the first test - the smallest particle of silver could enter the bloodstream, and so the heart of a werewolf, although given the quality of workmanship the gesture was more symbolic.

His gaze on Lupin's face rather than what he was doing Snape picked up the knife and passed the palm of his right hand across the blade. Lupin wasted no time in collecting the blood on the tip of his wand, depositing a measured amount in the first phial before meticulously adding two drops of the dark green potion, which began to smoke as it made contact. The original brown liquid in the phial turned a rich shade of orange.

Snape closed his eyes, his head bowing until his unbound hair curtained his face from view.

"Yes!" exclaimed Black.

Lupin's hands shook so much that he had to ask Hermione to complete the next two tests.

The second and third test confirmed the first.

"Professor Snape was not infected," said Hermione, enunciating as clearly as she knew how while fighting not to cry or hug him or do any of the other things he would hate.

His heart in his eyes as he stared at Snape's bowed head, Lupin's mouth moved but speech seemed beyond him. Little by little his controls collapsed, his face crumpling, and he began to weep from sheer relief. It was impossible to make sense of what he was saying.

Black gathered him up in a fierce embrace, swinging him away to give him privacy.

Broken phrases escaped Lupin as he wept out his relief and joy and there was a hubbub of noise as Hermione and Professors Sprout and Flitwick clustered around to hug and exclaim and celebrate the fact he hadn't condemned anyone else to the hell he occupied.

It was some time before Snape was in any condition to notice anything. Stirring, he reluctantly faced the world again, looking up dry-eyed in time to see Dumbledore enter the cell, open anxiety on his face. He was immediately drawn into the circle of laughing friends, hugging and kissing one another.

Snape sat silent and forgotten on the sidelines, the expression in his eyes growing bleaker by the second. It was interesting how so little changed over the years. Sometimes, in weaker moments, he thought it might be nice to be proved wrong occasionally.

Picking up his wand, he unfastened the manacles at his wrists and ankle and unnoticed by those celebrating left the cell.


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

 

Dumbledore paused at the doorway. "May I come in?" he asked mildly.

Four hours sleep, lunch and an Energy Enhancing Potion had left Snape looking heavy-eyed and irritable. "Would it make any difference if I said no?" While he stepped away from the door to his chambers it was obvious he was in no mood for visitors.

"I hope I didn't wake you," said Dumbledore.

"You didn't."

Without looking to see if Dumbledore was following him, Snape went through a gothic arched doorway and began to climb the stone stairs that circled their way to the top of Serpens Tower. As Snape removed the wards a doorway appeared, which led into the laboratory. The first impression was of light and warmth, followed by a workmanlike sense of order and purpose with just the odd idiosyncratic touch. The atmosphere was surprisingly tranquil, given whose workplace this was.

Untaxed by the climb, despite his advanced years, Dumbledore was surprised to see Snape breathing as if he had been running, sweat gleaming at his temples and on his upper lip. Then he took in the changes in Snape's appearance in the four days since he had seen him last. The sharp weight loss accentuated the jut of his nose and definition of his cheekbones, hollowing out his eyes. The marks of sleeplessness and stress were stamped on his face as plain as the raw marks around each wrist and splotched across his hands.

Chained like an animal in the dark, only to creep away to lick his wounds in private...

"Severus, I - "

His breathing more or less under control, Snape was heading for a workbench at the far end of the circular room.

Wondering if he would ever live long enough to acquire all the patience he needed, Dumbledore followed him. "Earlier today... You were missed," he said, picking his way through a potential minefield.

While Snape met Dumbledore's gaze there was a curious blankness to his face; so many doors were closing it was difficult to know how far behind them he might be. "Please don't insult my intelligence, Headmaster. I was there."

He turned away and began to weigh dried lacewings, although his hands were less than steady. Bad enough to be so needy, worse to reveal the fact to the world. One by one they would come trouping along, full of remorse for not having thought of him, and he - Should have taken a sleeping draught. Or two.

Dumbledore stared at the tension-locked back with a degree of frustration. Sirius - even the less ebullient Remus - would have barrelled their way into the centre of the celebrations and taken centre stage as their right; accustomed to rejection, Severus had assumed he wasn't wanted and left. "May I sit down?" he asked.

"If you wish." Snape brushed spilled lacewings from the counter.

"Have you had any sleep?"

Snape nodded.

Knowing how little it could have been, Dumbledore said only. "Perhaps a Dreamless Sleep Potion might have been wise after so traumatic an experience."

"In the short term it can be beneficial but experience has taught me that it merely delays the inevitable."

"Sirius explained the part he played in all this. I believe his contrition is genuine."

"Well there's a surprise. So do I," added Snape unwillingly.

"He also mentioned a misapprehension under which he believes you are suffering," pursued Dumbledore.

Snape began slicing leeches with more vigour than was necessary. "I'm not responsible for Black's feeble thought processes."

"Yes, yes. But in this insistence... He said you seem to have the idea that I wouldn't object if he - anyone - were to kill you. That there would be no one to care."

"Yes?"

"How dare you place so little value on your existence!"

The thunder of Dumbledore's voice made Snape jump; the knife slipped and he sliced open the side of his thumb. Unable to rely on his own first aid skills he resorted to the time honoured method of holding the wound under the cold water tap.

"How could you, Severus?" demanded Dumbledore, striding after him and gripping Snape by the shoulder.

"Spare me," Snape said in a hard voice, easing free of the unwanted contact. "Had I needed a reminder of my place in the scheme of things, I received it this morning. It hardly matters, there are more important concerns." Rather than the self-pity of even a year ago he sounded as if he genuinely expected nothing better.

Dumbledore sat as abruptly as a puppet whose strings had been cut. "We hurt you with our thoughtlessness, I am aware of that. But to assume it arose from a lack of... You're wrong."

"If you say so, Headmaster." Disposing of the leeches contaminated with his blood, Snape took a fresh board and started again.

"I wish I could have been with you during your long wait," said Dumbledore simply.

"You couldn't have done anything. It gave me a chance to think." Dumbledore's gaze like a weight on his sore shoulders, Snape became increasingly edgy. Having to discard the second lot of leeches when he realised he had neglected to use a fresh knife, he wheeled around, every nerve end feeling rawly exposed. "If that's all?"

"You look exhausted. Must you work today?"

"What else is there?" said Snape, fighting against the exhaustion which made thought itself an effort.

"It was my impression - it was certainly my hope - that you were relearning just how much more life has to offer. I know something of what you must have gone through during those dark hours of waiting and fear but - "

"No," said Snape with precision, "you don't."

Dumbledore paused. "Then tell me. I want - I need - to understand."

Feeling harried and pressured, Snape abandoned his pretence of doing any useful work. "Whatever for?" His arms were already defensively folded across his torso.

"Because I've failed you in the past and I don't want to do so again - unless it's already too late."

Snape hunched his shoulders, stuck his hands in his pockets, and studied his feet. "Why do you do this to me, Albus? Just let it go. It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine. I over-reacted, that's all."

Dumbledore's voice stroked the silence, tender as the embrace he longed to offer. "I wish that was true. I've often blamed you for the difficulties we've experienced over the years but I know in my heart of hearts that the blame must be mine. Why else would you consistently deny your feelings? Do you think I don't know of the affection in which you hold Minerva, or Ceres - Poppy and March? Even myself, on occasion."

Snape looked up then, his expression that of a child who has been beaten for no reason it can understand. But when he began to speak, it became obvious he had no intention of answering Dumbledore's most recent question.

"During the last four days I became convinced my fate was sealed. After a while it occurred to me that, in many ways, it would be preferable to my current existence."

Dumbledore's head shot up. Reading the truth in those bottomless eyes, he made no attempt to speak, averting his own head as he sought a measure of control. There could be no greater indictment of himself than that.

"It's not as melodramatic as it might sound, just realistic," continued Snape in the same disquieting, matter of fact voice. "For at least four days a month I would be free from all responsibility. No Dark Mark, no Voldemort, no memories, no guilt. It would be easy enough to adjust to - one way or another I've grown accustomed to being locked away over the years."

It was a moment before Dumbledore trusted his voice. "I know I ask much of you. And I know what working as Voldemort's interrogator cost you - both in the past, and now. But you are my only contact with his thought processes. What alternative do I have?"

Conscious of the debt he could never repay, even as he stared bleakly down the weeks and months - years, if he was really unlucky - of his servitude, Snape granted Dumbledore absolution, as he always did.

"None," he said colourlessly, wanting irrationally to weep, not least for his unrealistic expectations. He didn't of course. Instead, because he didn't know what else to do, he resumed work. As so often, that provided a solace of sorts, even if it couldn't dispel the childish yearning that just once someone would place his needs first.

Reseating himself, Dumbledore was content just to watch. It wasn't often he had the chance to see Snape in the setting where he was most content. There was a certain beauty in seeing a master at work. His concentration narrowing, Severus seemed sharper while conversely more relaxed. He was a physically graceful man but it never seemed more apparent as now, when he was fully focussed on the work he loved.

"May I ask what you're working on?" Dumbledore did his best to ignore his growling stomach, although the appalling smell coming from a small copper cauldron was stealing his appetite away by the second.

"Some Easiheal while I wait for... I'm running a series of tests on the remnants of the corrupted Wolfsbane Potion. The contamination aside, Remus shouldn't have transformed so early or so fast. This batch was made the previous month - Remus helped with the preparation. My skills have been impaired because of the Cruciatus but the potion was checked and double-checked at the time we completed it, and each time Remus has taken it since then. It was heated to the correct degree for the correct time. The goblet and cauldron contained no silver, nor were any silver utensils used in its preparation. Which suggests that one of the ingredients must have been compromised in a manner which escaped the tests I routinely perform to check their integrity."

"What's that terrible smell?"

"The corrupted potion."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, pinching off a sprig of Moroccan Mint from the plant growing in a pot on a shady window ledge; holding the sprig to his nose, he inhaled with pleasure. "If you wish to discuss this with Remus you will need to do so quickly. He believes he should resign and leave Hogwarts."

Snape continued working.

"Well?" demanded Dumbledore a few minutes later, irritable because Snape hadn't reacted in the way he had hoped.

"What response would you prefer?"

"An honest one," snapped Dumbledore, stung by the implication.

Snape raised his dark eyebrows in polite surprise. "I don't know why. You never pay any attention to my opinion, so it seems simpler just to say what you wish to hear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to concentrate."

"You're right, of course," said Dumbledore into the silence. "I hoped for the answer which would save Remus and Sirius from a life on the run, with little money or hope of earning any."

"Very affecting," drawled Snape. "Do you do encores?"

Dumbledore's mouth thinned. After four days at the Ministry of Magic keeping his temper wasn't easy. "I suppose I should be grateful you haven't thrown in my face the fact you told me so."

Snape glanced at him but obviously thought the better of whatever retort he had intended.

It was only as he sat in silence, studying Snape's severe profile, that it was brought home to Dumbledore how close he had come to losing the younger man, who had come close to being eaten alive by a werewolf. "Severus, I..."

"Was wrong?" offered Snape. He sounded amused.

"I'm surprised you find anything humorous about this."

"Me, too," Snape admitted. "It's just... You always sound so taken aback when you're wrong. And resentful. It's very Slytherin," he added blandly.

"Ah, the cruellest cut of all," said Dumbledore, knowing better than to try to hug him. "May I ask you something? It's personal."

Snape looked decidedly wary. "Since when have you waited for my permission?"

"A simple yes would have - "

"There's never anything simple with you. You pick over my bones like a - " Snape stopped. Leaning back against the workbench, he visibly braced himself. "What do you want to know?"

"Nothing you're not willing to tell me. You've already given over half your life to fighting Voldemort. Taking risks that would make most people... You don't put yourself through all this for my sake, do you?"

It was a moment before Snape trusted himself to reply. "Do you have any idea how insulting the inference behind that question is? Although with my track record it's hardly surprising, I suppose. Relax. I'm not working for the greater glory of Albus Dumbledore. Or even that of Severus Snape." His fatigue was such that while he managed to control his voice, the expression in his eyes gave him away.

Dumbledore stared at him aghast. "Severus, I didn't - "

" - mean it? You never do, Albus. You never do."

Pushing himself away from the counter Snape strode off. But rather than abandoning a difficult emotional scene altogether, as he would have done even a year ago, he prowled around the perimeter of the large room, oblivious to the fact he was under surveillance. The frown line between his eyes deepening, he eventually sank on to a high stool, propping his elbows on the work top. His fingers linked over his head, shoulders hunched, he audibly exhaled.

"Remus can't resign," he said at last, sounding very tired. "He's a passable teacher - for the academically challenged - and he's your best hope for a replacement Potions master. More importantly, he's a powerful wizard. As is Black, although at present his control leaves something to be desired. If Remus leaves, Sirius will go with him and Hogwarts needs all the protection it can get. No one else need know what happened. Though it might be prudent to extend the period Remus is kept from the children to five days. Just so long as I don't have to cover any of his classes. Red Caps and Grindylows aren't my idea of a challenging lesson." He half-turned to see Dumbledore staring at him, his brilliant eyes blazing, but bright with unshed tears.

"Albus?" said Snape, wondering what he could have done wrong now.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and went to stand behind him, resting his hands lightly on the younger man's shoulders. "I know how many mistakes I make - not least where you're concerned. Unfortunately, I only seem able to recognise the fact after the event." He paused to kiss the top of Snape's hair. "Thank you, child. That was well said. I'm proud of you."

"Only because I've done what you wanted," muttered Snape, but his heart wasn't in it. Drooping with fatigue, he tried to concentrate on anything but his need for sleep.

"That, too," smiled Dumbledore, sitting beside him. Taking in the finer points of Snape's appearance for the first time his eyes narrowed with concern. He took out his wand, making no secret of the fact he was monitoring Snape's readings.

"Don't let Poppy catch you doing that," said Snape, eyeing him warily.

"With energy levels this low I'm surprised you managed to light a cauldron. Eat this." Fishing in a capacious pocket Dumbledore produced a variety of items before locating the slab of medichocolate he was after. "Don't argue, just eat."

"I'm fine," said Snape grumpily, before he disposed of the chocolate in a few swift bites of his strong teeth.

"Better," conceded Dumbledore, taking a second lot of readings a short time later. "More chocolate?"

Snape shook his head. "I always forget how fast that works." Only now, as energy began to seep back, did he appreciate how ill he had felt before. It would have been convenient to blame his over-emotionalism on that weakness, even if it wasn't true.

"You haven't asked me about Black," he added, giving Dumbledore a quizzical look.

"I was afraid to, given the circumstances. Recent events can hardly have improved matters between you."

"They didn't. Except that I owe him my life," added Snape baldly.

"What?"

Snape picked at a thread hanging loose from one of his shirt ties. "If it hadn't been for Black the werewolf would have got me. I froze."

"I'm not surprised. So would most people when faced with a werewolf."

Snape waved away that sop to his pride. "You needn't look so worried. I can work with them both, if I have to."

"Thank you. On their behalf, too. Remus is extremely concerned about you. It took some...persuasion to prevent him from coming after you this morning to ensure that you were all right."

"I didn't credit Black with that much sense," said Snape idly.

"It was Miss Granger who pointed out you probably wouldn't welcome company."

Snape paused. "How perspicacious of her." Of course, she'd been wrong, but there was no need to betray just how humiliatingly needy he had been.

"Remus is a good man, as I think you've discovered while working with him."

"Know your enemy? The therapy worked."

Dumbledore parted his hands. "As I recall, teaching Remus Potions was your idea, not mine."

Snape leant past Dumbledore to retrieve a small silver cauldron. Picking it up, he peered at the side.

"What are you looking at?" asked Dumbledore.

"My reflection."

There was a mystified pause.

"Why?"

"To remind myself what a gullible prat looks like."

"You can't blame me for every decent impulse you have," protested Dumbledore, smiling.

Snape's side-on glare begged to differ.

"Am I keeping you from your work?"

"Obviously. It doesn't matter. You were at the Ministry a long time," Snape added.

"Don't remind me. More attempts to interfere in the running of Hogwarts."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. Insanity even to consider allowing them around children." Dumbledore's expression was grave. "The noose is tightening, Severus."

His mouth set in grim lines, his eyes veiled, Snape nodded. "I know. And I have absolutely no idea what we can do to stop it. Nor do you. It's all right. Just for now you don't need to pretend."

Dumbledore looked at him. "How long have you known?"

His expression schooled, Snape shrugged.

For a moment Dumbledore allowed himself the luxury of dropping the facade he presented to the world; he aged twenty years. "Oh, Severus... Some mornings I don't know how to look those courageous children in the face. Any of you. I fear for the future."

"Something will turn up," Snape heard himself say, reeling from the knowledge he had just acquired. If Albus saw no way to defeat Voldemort, what hope was there?

Dumbledore blinked. "Optimism? From you?"

"Desperate times require desperate measures," said Snape solemnly, winning a faint but appreciative smile.

"You're right, of course. But... I can't tell you what a relief it's been to be able to share this with you."

Snape gave him an awkward pat on the arm and tried to remember one of the soothing platitudes which always drove him to verbal savagery when he was on the receiving end.

Both men looked unwelcoming as a knock on the door sounded from the magical amplifier by the entrance to the laboratory.

"Miss Granger is wishing to speak with you, master. If it is convenient." The house elf was obviously quoting.

"It isn't," said Snape disagreeably, before he caught Dumbledore's eye and sighed. "Send her up anyway."

"She was concerned about you," said Dumbledore, as they waited for her to complete the climb.

"She's concerned about everyone."

"She has - uh - decided opinions, doesn't she."

Snape looked amused, if unsympathetic. "You noticed that? She's also young enough to think she can make a difference. Although in her case I'm more likely to believe it. For a witch she has a remarkably orderly mind. And she understands logic." From his absent expression he was obviously following a train of thought.

"Ah, logic," said Dumbledore, looking pensive.

"Is not our strong point. But it could be a useful tool, if only we understood better how to employ it against Voldemort. It occurs to me that you may wish to invite her to speak to the Inner Circle when you meet next."

"Logic," Dumbledore said again, with a small grimace.

Snape gave him a look of affection. Dumbledore was excellent at Transfiguration, a superb alchemist and an even greater wizard but he was as helpless as a new-born baby when faced with the simplest logic puzzle.

"You really think we should - ?"

"We need all the help we can get, Headmaster."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed. "But I insist you be present. You're the only one of us with any hope of understanding what she's talking about."

"Which isn't saying a lot," conceded Snape wryly. "I spent four days devising that logic puzzle to protect the Philosopher's Stone. Miss Granger solved that puzzle in fifteen minutes. Of course, Quirrell solved it as well, although we don't know how long it took him."

"Or if it was Quirrell who solved it. I don't remember Tom Riddle displaying any talent for logic," mused Dumbledore. "But then it isn't something we test for. I shall consult my Pensieve. If he didn't..."

"We may just have found a weapon to use against him. Ah, Miss Granger. Come in."

"Thank you for seeing me," Hermione said, doing her best to control her surprise as she took in her surroundings. She gave Dumbledore a vague smile of acknowledgement. Who would have expected anywhere occupied by Snape to feel so...welcoming, she mused, before she realised Snape was talking.

"...suppose it was too much to hope I might have your full attention. I hope the laboratory meets with your approval?"

The barb missed its target. "It's wonderful," she said simply. He looked alarmingly focussed for a man who could have had so little sleep, even if he did look as if he had just received some devastating news and didn't know how to hide it. Fear caught her by the throat and it was a moment before she was able to speak.

"You really are all right, aren't you?" she blurted out, with all the finesse of Ron asking a girl for a date.

Taken aback by her urgency, Snape blinked. "Yes." He looked puzzled. "There's no need to concern yourself about me."

"Of course there isn't. Silly me." If she didn't think of something else to say she was going to burst into tears - she was really going to have to work on this crying thing. "How can you bear the dungeons after this?"

"The smiling, happy faces of my pupils is reward enough," said Snape, hardly aware of what he was saying.

While she smiled, the acknowledgement was obviously forced and she looked pale; violet shadows were smudged under her eyes, giving her a fragile look. He frowned. At her age it should take more than a sleepless night to dim her radiance. Then he remembered. Potter was due to arrive in a few hours, just after she had spent three days learning everything a Pilgrim of Love could teach her. And while she and Potter weren't lovers, or ever likely to be if he was any judge, Potter took a proprietorial interest in Granger's burgeoning sex life. He was also something of a prude - just like his bloody father.

"That chocolate made me hungry," he announced briskly. "Headmaster, have you eaten?"

"Not today," said Dumbledore. The scene he had found on his return to Hogwarts had stolen away his appetite.

Snape summoned a house elf. "Tea for three in the study. All the usual, plus cucumber sandwiches for the headmaster - leave the crusts on, cake, buttered crumpets. Miss Granger, do you have any preference?"

"I don't want anything."

"Ah, of course not. You'll want to eat with Potter when he arrives."

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "He isn't coming."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked far from happy.

"Mr Black just received an owl. Harry's with the Weasleys. Charlie got expelled from Roumania."

"I'm almost afraid to ask why," said Dumbledore, relaxing.

"Um, something about an unnatural relationship with a Roumanian Longback."

Even Snape blinked. "Are they insane? I know the Weasleys aren't over-burdened with brains but - "

"Where is Harry now?" interrupted Dumbledore.

"With the Weasleys. Ron owled Harry and Mr Weasley went to collect him. Though apparently he got a bit confused and Mrs Weasley had to go after him. They're all staying in Diagon Alley tonight, ready to watch the Chudley Cannons tomorrow. Mr Weasley won a family season ticket."

"I see," said Dumbledore, looking unusually stern. "So Harry passed up the chance to spend time with his godfather for Quidditch?"

Hermione looked unhappy.

"I imagine Sirius is very disappointed."

"Yes," said Hermione, surprised they hadn't heard Mr Black shouting from up here.

"Aren't we all," drawled Snape, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"You don't have to look so pleased, " said Hermione crossly.

"It's preferable to hypocrisy. Potter's an irritant I'm only too happy to dispense with. I'll be seeing enough of him in just over two weeks' time."

"Sit down, my dear," said Dumbledore. "I must send off a couple of owls."

"Use my study," said Snape. "Miss Granger and I will take tea with you in ten minutes or so. If, of course, she will consent to accompany the spider to its parlour?"

Knowing she was the first pupil Snape had allowed into the sanctuary of his chambers - which had been his only home for some years, Dumbledore was looking thoughtful as he headed to the study on the floor below.

"Well, Miss Granger?" prompted Snape. "What did you want to see me about?"

"I didn't intend to interrupt your work."

"Nor did the headmaster. It didn't stop him either. I won't be doing any worthwhile work today," he added, in a rare admission of weakness.

"I can smell the corrupted potion. It occurred to me that - "

"I might be ahead of you?" inquired Snape, before he took the unusual step of explaining himself.

Hermione's face fell. "That's why I came to see you. I know you buy a lot of stock from Mrs Comfit and you said she liked her games."

"Which is why I check every ingredient purchased from her. But it was well thought of. I must have missed something," he added, thinking aloud. "I suspect the potion hasn't been as effective as it should have been for a couple of months. I need to speak to Remus to verify that."

"Sugar nullifies Wolfsbane Potion."

"Obliged, Miss Granger. Oddly enough, I already knew that."

Duly snubbed, her mouth tightened, although her only obvious response was a glare.

While he noticed, Snape's mind was elsewhere. "How much sugar do you suppose it would require - how little should I say?"

Hermione shrugged. "Who cares?" She must have been mad to come. Of course he was fine. He'd already made it obvious he didn't want her company any more than Harry did. A wave of hormonal self-pity swept over her, exacerbated by a sleepless night and hours of anxiety over the ungrateful, sarcastic -

"What did you say?" she asked, belatedly becoming aware that he was speaking to her.

"I asked if you would care to assist me in researching the subject," repeated Snape with unusual patience.

"Me?"

"False humility, Miss Granger?"

"Just surprise, given that you make me feel as welcome as a dose of the - "

"Surely not that bad?" said Snape, mildly entertained. It was like being savaged to death by a gerbil. A pink-eyed gerbil at that. While she had many faults, she wasn't usually this irritable - or at least not with him. Of course, she'd been disappointed at not seeing Potter and -

Hermione moved past him to the window and he caught a hint of her unique scent. Identifying the change in her hormone levels, he wondered why the simplest explanation hadn't occurred to him first. Over-looking the obvious was something every Potions Master had to guard against. He made a quick review of his store cupboards. The Leniomensis Potion should do the trick. Fortunately it was quick and simple to make and could be brewed in bulk, which was the only reason there was any left. He couldn't remember a time when his stock cupboards had been this empty.

Resisting the urge to curl into a moaning knot of misery Hermione sank on to a high stool and watched Snape move around his laboratory. In six years of Potions classes they had never seen him work and she was curious to see him create something - he wasn't a man who would be satisfied with giving anything less than his best. Distracted by the grace of his prowling walk and set of the wide, flat shoulders, she was mildly irritated by his white silk shirt, which fell to mid-thigh. While the billowing robes he usually wore probably kept him warm in the dungeons it was a sin to hide the only body on staff worth lusting over.

To her disappointment she realised that rather than brewing a potion Snape was merely heating one in a small silver cauldron. He added a drizzle of amber honey and a few drops of fresh lime juice before pouring the pale orange liquid into a plump mug shaped like a bumble bee. The wings of the bee began to vibrate, a soothing hum filling the air - not the sort of item you expected Snape to own.

"A present from the headmaster," Snape said, following the line of her gaze. "Here, drink this while it's still hot. There's more honey if you want it."

"What is this?" asked Hermione, curling her chilly hands around the mug and being careful to avoid the bee. The steam smelt of honey and lime, and faintly of ginger.

"Poison. Drink it."

It was too hot to do more than sip but the familiar bitter hint of wormwood seeds and conserve of motherwort were just evident beneath all the other flavours, if less so than usual. Her eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"A lucky guess," he said dryly, cleaning the laboratory as he spoke. "That and having my head bitten off more often in the last ten minutes than the previous six years. I'm obviously losing my touch. Eat this afterwards." He set a bar of medichocolate beside her.

"Oh, good. Now I can have spots, too." Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip. "This must be a different recipe. It tastes much nicer than the potion Madam Pomfrey was using last term."

"My small reputation as a Potions Master is confirmed," he said, but she could see he was pleased.

"You made this? Second years learn how to make Leniomensis Potion."

"I hadn't forgotten," he assured her. "Longbottom has the dubious distinction of being the only pupil to ruin three batches - and just when I had assumed it was idiot proof. Until last year I made all the potions Poppy was likely to need for the students. This year circumstances have kept me from as much potions making as I would have liked," he added, skating over a period he remembered most clearly in nightmares. "In consequence she'll need to buy virtually all her stock from outside this term."

"But aren't a lot of the potions she needs beneath a Master capable of brewing Wolfsbane Potion?"

Snape poured the rest of the potion into a container, a wax stopper slowly melting into an airtight seal before he fastened the lid. "You shouldn't need more than one dose a day. If you do, speak to Poppy. Nothing should be beneath the notice of a Potions Master. It's the worst kind of snobbery. Dangerous, too. It's true many potions aren't demanding, but others are deceptively simple. Whatever the degree of difficulty their preparation keeps a Master grounded - and on a more prosaic level, offers a useful period for reflection." Seating himself beside her, he broke open the bar of chocolate and absently helped himself to two squares.

"Potion making as a spiritual experience?" she mused.

Because he could see it had caught her imagination he refrained from snapping to deflect her from what he had inadvertently revealed. "If that's how you wish to interpret it. I'm eating your chocolate," he realised, sitting back.

"There's plenty. Here."

Snape's potion took effect quickly, unobtrusively reducing symptoms rather than leaving the muzzy head and background ache Hermione had suffered with the last dose of potion Madam Pomfrey had given her. Full of goodwill to all Potion Masters, she prepared to take advantage of Snape's untypically tolerant mood, even it if was probably due to nothing more than physical exhaustion.

"All those rumours which persist about you wanting the Defence Against the Dark Arts position are rubbish, aren't they?" she said briskly.

"What makes you assume that?"

"Oh, please." She looked pained.

Snape grimaced. "Fair comment. The more grudges against the headmaster and Hogwarts that I appear to have, the more likely it is that I'm working to betray both. As for teaching the Dark Arts, what do you imagine I've been doing in Potions for the last six years?"

"Oh," said Hermione, as she thought about it.

"You'll need to be more alert in the Seventh Year. The Dark Arts are everywhere, all the time, just waiting for someone to succumb to the dreadful fascination they exert. A curse is no more than the darkest of charms. Do you think it's beyond March Flitwick to teach you about the Unforgivables? But he's a gentle soul and not an imposing figure. Who would take him seriously?" Snape paused to eat a square of chocolate. "But bring on Mad-Eye Moody... Most people listen to Alastor. Or who we thought was Alastor," he added sourly, yet to forgive himself for missing that deception.

"Is the real Mad-Eye like that?"

"Oh, yes."

"You don't like him?"

"Miss Granger, I like very few people."

She gave the smallest of grins, which he affected not to notice.

"I suppose the Dark Arts are closest to Potions," she said.

"They're most obvious there. They're far less so, and therefore more insidious, in subjects such as Divination or Arithmancy. Imagine a Divination class given by someone less..." he visibly searched for something inoffensive to say "...benign than Sibyll Trelawney."

"Then why don't we simply have lessons warning us about how easy it is to get enmeshed in the Dark Arts?"

Snape gave her a look of contempt. "You have a brain, use it. If I told you there's a book in my library downstairs that could give you unlimited power wouldn't you be tempted to read it - if only to discover how it was possible?"

"No, of course I wouldn't!" Innate honesty stopped her dead. "No, I would. Of course I would. Anyone would, even if they despised themselves afterwards."

"A symptom common amongst those who believe they can 'dabble' in the Dark Arts."

Hermione's head shot up, the question she knew she could never ask him dying stillborn. While Snape's expression was forbidding, she took heart from the fact he was still sitting beside her, even though she had the oddest sensation that a gap was widening between them.

"And yet it could start so simply. 'For want of a nail...'" she murmured.

"'...the battle is lost'. Indeed. But not, let us hope, in this instance."

"That's a Muggle nursery rhythm."

He gave her a look of hauteur. "So?"

She found the wisdom not to pursue the point but couldn't help speculating about what books he might have read. She knew he had a library on the floor below from the glimpse through an open door as she had come up here.

"I suppose brewing the Wolfsbane Potion counts as practising the Dark Arts," she said, pushing the last of the chocolate over to him.

"I think you could assume that," he agreed dryly, "although it isn't illegal, per se."

"Harry said Professor Lupin had told him how difficult it was to make - how few Potion Masters were even capable of making it. Why is it so difficult?"

"There are a number of factors involved. It requires a complex series of ingredients, many highly volatile in nature, all needing to be added in meticulous amounts with meticulous timing. There is absolutely no room for error, which means great concentration is required over a long period of time. But more than that, as with any of the dark potions, the main difficulty lies in the amount of energy required to brew it. Far more than for inflicting one of the Unforgivables, although the focus is very different."

Hermione's eyes widened, not least at hearing him speak of them so casually. But then if you'd suffered from Cruciatus as many times as he had ...

"It never occurred to me that the Unforgivables might require unusual amounts of energy," she mused.

"A relief to all your many friends, I'm sure."

"No, I meant - "

"I know exactly what you meant, Miss Granger."

Hermione licked a smear of chocolate from her palm. "Do you think that the need for so much energy is why so few wizards - comparatively speaking - use the Unforgivables? Rather than mere strength of character or innate goodness, I mean?"

"I can only marvel at the casual fashion with which you dismiss those two qualities," said Snape dryly, studying her with an expression Hermione wasn't sure how to interpret. Only then did she appreciate that she had just inferred he was weak and evil.

She felt herself go pink but forced herself not to look away. "I never meant to imply... That is, I wasn't thinking of you when I... I didn't intend..."

"I should stop before you tie yourself in verbal knots," Snape advised her. To her surprise he sounded wryly amused rather than offended. "And to answer your question - from the perspective of a Death Eater who has inflicted Imperius three times - yes. I believe it is only the exceedingly high energy demands which prevent many wizards from using the Unforgivables."

"To be able to make someone do whatever you wish, whenever you wish... It would seem like a dream come to true to many people."

"And it would turn into a nightmare," said Snape quietly. "This isn't a world where something comes from nothing. There is always a payment to be made."

"Can Imperius be resisted? I mean, I know Harry said he could, a bit. But then he's the Boy Who Lived. What about the rest of us?"

"It can be resisted, if you have the strength of mind."

"Can you - ?" She stopped.

"No," said Snape.

"Is that 'no, I shouldn't have asked', or 'no you can't'?"

Snape gave a snort of amusement, his head drooping for a moment, as if in surrender. "So much for gerbils," he murmured to himself.

"What?"

"Never mind, Miss Granger. Never mind. Yes, I can. Well, I could when Lucius Malfoy... But against Voldemort..." He shivered. "Not that he employs it often. It amuses him more to twist people to his will by other means."

Her chin propped on her elbow, Hermione was frowning. "I don't understand why Avada Kedavra is an Unforgivable. Surely, if you're on the point of being murdered it must be all right to defend yourself. It's as if the odds are stacked against the wizard with moral scruples."

"Ah, morals..." said Snape, in a tone of such silken-voiced temptation that Hermione would have fallen headlong into the trap if she hadn't suddenly noticed Dumbledore sitting by the doorway, watching them with an expression she didn't know him well enough to interpret.

"Headmaster," she said, trying not to resent him for interrupting them just when Snape had begun to treat her like a human being rather than an irritant.

"Miss Granger, Severus. I did knock on my return but you were - understandably - engrossed in your conversation. Severus, I have a question for you."

Looking distinctly apprehensive, Snape sat a little straighter. "Headmaster."

"At what point were you proposing to let me know that Miss Granger had discovered that you were a Death Eater - let alone your activities during that time?"

"Ah." Snape rubbed the back of his neck. "I intended to tell you. But you got called away, and then there was the accident with Remus and... I'm sorry."

"Which, of course, solves all our problems." There was an edge to Dumbledore's voice and a look in his eye which made Snape scramble to his feet.

"Please, sir. It wasn't his fault. I made him tell me," said Hermione, humiliated to hear how squeaky her voice had gone

Pinned by those blazing blue eyes, Snape's gaze dropped to the top of Hermione's head for a moment before he looked back up and shrugged, a wry smile twisting his mouth. It was difficult to image how they could fail to beat Voldemort with such staunch allies - although she was an appallingly bad liar. He would have to work on that.

"Really? A seventeen year old girl forces information from a thirty-eight year old ex-Death Eater. I look forward to Professor Snape's explanation of your technique because unless he plans to offer the defence of Imperius..."

Recognising all the signs, Snape sent Hermione down to his study before the storm broke around his head. The knowledge that Albus was over-reacting because of the stress he was under didn't help as much as it might have done when he was left feeling as if he had lost several layers of skin.

Only when Dumbledore stepped into the fire he had lit in the chimney and disappeared to his own office, did Snape allow himself to relax, his face unguarded for a moment as he tried to regroup his defences.

It was at that inauspicious moment that the amplifier squawked into life.

"Severus! It's Remus! I've been so... May I see you? Speak with you? Whenever would be convenient, of course."

Standing beside the amplifier, Snape propped his forehead against the wall and exhaled softly. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that life in the dungeons was far less wearing.


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

 

Opening the door to his chambers, Snape flinched when Lupin virtually leapt forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. There was a moment when Snape was afraid he was about to be cried over before Lupin regained control, contenting himself with a fierce, brief hug before releasing him and beginning to talk at speed.

"Severus, I don't know how to apologise. You were right all along. I should never have returned to Hogwarts." He gave an unsteady sigh. "I've never come to terms with what I am enough to take sensible precautions. I became far too complacent about taking the potion late and not withdrawing to the cage in plenty of time. We're already packed but I couldn't leave without... I needed to see for myself that you are unharmed. Please believe I would never have knowingly put you at risk. I owe you too much."

"Yes, yes," dismissed Snape irritably. Having retreated as soon as Lupin released him, he propped a shoulder against the door jamb and folded his arms across his chest. "You're sorry, I'm fine. We got through it. Let's move on. Where's your bodyguard?"

"Here," said Black, stepping into view. "Any score you feel you have to settle is with me, not him," he added evenly.

Snape looked pained. "Do you ever listen to me? No, of course you don't. I'm well aware it wasn't Remus' fault. You'd better unpack," he said to Lupin. "Hogwarts - and Albus - need all the help they can get. Just don't expect me to celebrate the fact Black's staying," he added acidly.

Lupin just stared at him.

"You mean that? We can stay?" While Black's manner was brusque he was unable to hide what that meant to him.

"I just said so, didn't I." The joy on both men's faces making him uncomfortable, Snape fiddled needlessly with the fastening of one cuff.

"This is your doing, isn't it?" said Lupin huskily, patting him on the arm. "And please, no prevarication. If we are to stay we have to work together. As a team. With respect." He turned to glare at Black. "By all parties."

Black held up his hands. "I can work with him, if I have to. I just hate having to feel grateful to the bastard."

This a contingency he had been too tired to think of, Snape's expression brightened.

Lupin sighed. "Is working together against a common enemy so out of the question?"

"It was my impression we were already doing so," said Snape. "Or did you imagine I haven't realised Sirius has been working with you - in my laboratory," he added pointedly.

"You knew?" Black exclaimed. He had the grace to look faintly embarrassed.

"I had an inkling," Snape said dryly, before he deigned to explain. "Every potion-maker has their own style - from the angle at which they chop ingredients to the way they stopper a prepared potion. Yesterday's near miss was due to more than over-confidence - or to Black being a prick. How long have you been feeling out of sorts?" he asked Lupin.

"Since the last transformation. Even after I resumed my true form it felt as if I was...losing myself. I've been worrying that I might be developing a tolerance to the Wolfsbane Potion," Lupin added, looking down.

"My research suggests that Wolfsbane isn't addictive," said Snape.

Lupin's head shot up. "Then - Oh, Severus. I should have asked you, I know."

"I can guess why you didn't. I believe the problem is that one of the ingredients has been compromised in a way I haven't been able to detect. There is another possibility, of course. Didn't it occur to you that I might have made a mistake in the brewing?"

There was a short silence.

"Yes," said Black, with obvious reluctance. The storm he had expected wasn't even a damp squib.

"Why didn't either of you say anything?" demanded Snape, exasperated because it had taken him so long to admit - even to himself - the humiliating truth that he could no longer rely on his skills as a Potions Master.

Lupin shrugged but wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Because I was afraid you might stop brewing it for Remus altogether," said Black with a trace of defiance.

Snape looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "A reasonable assumption in the circumstances. A Pensieve for the time period when I made that batch of Wolfsbane might provide the answer and - Oh, no," he muttered helplessly as he saw Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey hurrying towards them, "the lynch mob."

"Only this time it's not for you," said Black wryly.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Professor McGonagall, who had been close enough to hear the exchange. "Although I must say I think you behaved very shabbily in all this, Sirius. Remus, my dear." She kissed his cheek before sweeping up to where Snape leant, still blocking the doorway. "Well, am I finally to be allowed to enter the sanctum? You look terrible," she added in a gentler tone. She touched an unmarked potion of Snape's cheek with a careful finger, giving a pleased nod when, although he made a face at her, he did not pull away from the contact.

Her wand out, Madam Pomfrey was already taking readings from him.

By the time everyone had trouped into Snape's sitting room he had been soundly kissed by an over-emotional Flitwick, lectured, praised, patted and all the obvious signs of injury removed from his person. Emotionally off-balance, he was as prickly as a hedgehog. He swung around with a glare when he heard his name being called.

Lupin stood in the doorway, through which could be seen the most splendid tea. "Who are you waiting for - Freyja?"

"She's back?"

"Indeed I am," said a familiar husky voice. "I let myself in. And there's no point you glaring at me, Severus, wait for an invitation from you and I'd wait forever. Merlin's balls, you look terrible," added Madam Hooch frankly. "What have you been doing?"

"It's a long story," said Snape. "Get Sirius to tell you."

Becoming aware that she had lost his attention, Madam Hooch half-turned. "Headmaster," she exclaimed with obvious affection. Going over to him, she had to stand on tiptoe in order to kiss his cheek. "Albus, you don't look much better than Severus. What have you all been doing? It's not - ?"

"No," said Dumbledore quietly, his steady gaze already on Snape.

"Freyja, come and have tea with me," coaxed Lupin, returning to tuck his arm into hers. "I want to hear all the gossip about Hagrid and - " An observant man, he closed the door to the sitting room behind them, leaving Snape and Dumbledore alone.

"You must have smelt the cucumber sandwiches," said Snape into the silence. "You should be asleep."

"I'm too tired," Dumbledore admitted. "Severus..."

"Then ten minutes of hearing Minerva talk about her holiday should do the trick. I know," he added in a different tone. "But you didn't say anything I didn't deserve. About Hermione..."

"Are you sure you don't want me to Obliviate her again? One slip could mean - "

"I've had to trust Potter, since you choose not to Obliviate him," said Snape acidly.

"I had hoped the knowledge of your true role might improve relations between you."

Snape gave a crooked grin. "I see your optimism hasn't deserted you completely. I trust Hermione and as she'll be living amongst us during the holidays she should know the truth. Even if, like you, she seems to take an unrealistically optimistic view of everything. Now, come and have some tea."

"You're very forgiving."

His hand in the small of Dumbledore's back, Snape eased him inside and closed the door. "I'm known for it," he said blandly.

 

Despite the fact the holidays had given her the opportunity to get to know most of those present, Hermione did her best to remain inconspicuous as she joined the staff in the sitting room, after Snape belatedly remembered her presence in his study. She soon became aware that there was something different about everyone today, a new energy. Or perhaps it was no more than the few days holiday some of them had enjoyed.

Choosing a seat on the periphery, she began to take in her surroundings. Snape's sitting room was as comfortable as the rest of his quarters; this kind of deceptive simplicity was expensive to achieve - and extremely easy to live with. While there were no ornaments or pictures there were books by the thousands - add those to the number in the library on the floor above and he had an impressive collection. While the walls were of undecorated stone, the floors were covered in mellow oak boards and what she would have called 'rugs' but for their size; they were also extremely beautiful. The fireplace was large and starkly plain, except for the carving in the centre, of two entwined serpents. Hermione blinked and looked at them again but they were still two stone serpents rather than the couple of naked humans which she could have sworn she had glimpsed.. It was a moment before she noticed the embroidered wall-hangings of wind-sculpted desert landscapes. None of them possessed the relentless romanticism of the wizard artwork she had seen until now and the workmanship was exquisite. Getting up to study the richness of detail, she absorbed the patterns of life and death being enacted before her until she was ready to swear she could hear the singing of the sand and the cry of a hawk high in the sky.

"It's a magnificent piece of work, isn't it," said Madam Hooch, making Hermione jump and look self-conscious.

"Yes," she said shortly, trying to account for her feelings of antagonism. It wasn't as if she even knew Madam Hooch; beyond those initial flying lessons she had seen nothing of her except at meal times.

"Best not to spend too long in it at first. It's easy to lose yourself," Madam Hooch added, before strolling back to the group around Snape.

Her legs tucked under her as she made herself comfortable in a leather armchair, Hermione watched her professors, wondering why she was the only one who could see how uncomfortable the attention made Snape. Vilify him and he didn't turn a hair but he seemed to have no defence against affection.

There was a thought for Voldemort, she thought bitterly, kill them with kindness.

Her longing to see her parents again a spearing ache, she lost all sense of the party and those around her.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione refocused to find Snape perched on a leather footstool beside the chair she occupied, a plate heaped with an assortment of sandwiches in his hand.

"I interrupted your train of thought," he recognised, in the closest he was likely to come to an apology.

"I was just remembering something."

"About your family?"

Hermione shivered. That voice would coax the truth from a Sphinx. "Yes. My parents used to hold tea parties like this on Sunday afternoons. Well, all day, really. People would turn up when they wanted and leave when they had to. They'd bring their children and their dogs and it would be chaos but the house was full of talk and laughter and music and warmth and I wish I'd known how to remember it all. Because we never wanted it to end, by the time we finally got to bed it was always really late so that on Monday morning we were all half-asleep. My father played the flute and my mother painted. Sometimes they'd say or do stuff with their friends that made me realise they were people as well as my parents, you know?"

Snape didn't but he nodded anyway. Her formative years spent wrapped in love and warmth, her first years at Hogwarts must have been difficult for her, he mused, before he realised she was reminiscing again.

"My mother painted portraits. Nudes. All purple with green splotches - and way too much skin. I used to get so embarrassed when I was younger. The people in her pictures didn't move, of course, though given what she painted that was probably just as well. She and dad were dentists. They didn't have many private patients because they believed in supporting the National Health Service and you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Hermione recognised, in more of her usual tone of voice.

"No," admitted Snape. "Although I understand the need for creativity - and stimulating conversation. You should continue to talk about your parents."

It was strange to see his face below her own, let alone to know she had his complete attention. No, she had become accustomed to that in recent weeks but it was rare to see him so off-guard, his defences down. She was close enough to see that his eyes weren't black, as she had always assumed, but a velvety brown, like the richest dark chocolate.

"Why?" Hermione added, resisting the urge to replait his hair.

"Poppy said it would be good for you. There again, she tells me to do the same thing." He moved his head and the light turned his eyes to black again.

Losing herself in the bones of his face, she said the first thing that came into her head. "Do you take any notice?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I still have a year of Potions to get through."

While small, his smile was warm and uncomplicated, small lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. "You've got this far, you'll survive. If you can concentrate with me harassing you, you should be able to cope with most distractions. Here, have a sandwich."

"I'm not hungry," said Hermione, absorbing the implication that Snape's chosen method of teaching might have some point beyond sheer bloody-mindedness.

"Eat anyway. If you don't, I can't - wizard etiquette - and I'm starving."

"Ah, enlightened self-interest." She took an egg and cress sandwich and two bites later realised how hungry she was. There was a short, busy interlude.

"You have a wonderful library," she said, licking a tomato pip from her finger. Glancing up she found herself caught in Snape's heavy-lidded gaze and for several seconds she was conscious only of her pulse thumping in her ears and the shape of his mouth.

Snape blinked, straightening where he sat and the disconcerting moment was gone. "So many books. And yes, I have read them all."

She grinned. "You must have been listening to - "

"Ninety nine per cent of our acquaintance, I would imagine."

"I started to look for books on Wolfsbane - "

"That can wait. I think there may be a more obvious solution," Snape said, beating her to the last sandwich.

"More food," said Professor McGonagall, having approached without either of them being aware of her. "Miss Granger, you'll have to learn to eat fast around Severus. I used to think he had worms."

"Minerva..." he protested, looking pained.

"Let him be," said Professor Sprout. "He's missed a number of meals over the last four days."

"And he's quite capable of speaking for himself," said Snape pointedly.

"Indeed you are," said Dumbledore from where he sat in a dull crimson wing-backed leather chair. His purple suede boots clashed with the crimson footstool. "Isn't this delightful. Some of my favourite people gathered together to enjoy one another's company." There was a flash of gold and a puff of feathers as Fawkes appeared on his shoulder. "As we're all here with the exception of Argus, who won't be back until the beginning of term, I propose we hold a meeting of the Inner Circle. There is much to discuss."

"I'll leave you to it," said Snape, through a mouthful of ham sandwich. Uncoiling, he rose to his full height.

"Try not to look too relieved to be escaping us all," McGonagall advised him, but she patted him as he walked past.

Hermione got to her feet, prepared to follow Snape from the room.

"No, Miss Granger. We should like you to stay, if you will," said Dumbledore gravely.

Off-balance, she glanced at Snape, who gave her a small nod. It was a moment or two before it occurred to her that she should have turned to her Head of House for reassurance.

"Of course, Headmaster," Hermione said, with more composure than she felt. "But I don't understand. What is the Inner Circle?" she added diffidently, becoming aware of the level of power and influence of those around her.

"Many at Hogwarts are united in the fight against Voldemort. Here in this room you see those from whom I have few secrets." The twinkle gone from his eyes, Dumbledore exuded authority, for all that he was just a tired old man sitting by an empty fireplace. "We are unanimous in hoping you will join us in that fight."

"You know I will," she said simply. "Why is Professor Snape leaving?"

"He doesn't attend these meetings," said Professor McGonagall shortly.

It took a few moments to process that. Outrage informing her every line, Hermione glared around at her seated professors. "You send him off to be tortured, but you don't trust him to - "

A number of voices spoke at once. Snape's deeper tones prevailed, cutting effortlessly through the babble.

"What's the point of having one of the best minds in Hogwarts if you don't use it? While Voldemort knows better than to waste time questioning anyone under Cruciatus there are many other methods of extracting information. I'm adept at a number of them myself. The less I know, the less I can betray. I am excluded from these meetings at my own insistence. It's that or face Obliviate, and you known my feelings about Memory Charms. Trust me, if there was a sinister Gryffindor plot at work, I would be the first to spot it."

"Oh," she said in a small voice, wishing a hole would open and swallow her up. She cast an apologetic look at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, I - "

Dumbledore looked amused rather than offended. "Nothing to apologise for, my dear. Rest assured, we take Professor Snape's safety as seriously as you do. All of us," he added, when he noticed her glance at Black. "Sirius, that was uncalled for - and so was your response, Severus."

Both men muttered graceless apologies and Hermione was reminded of Ron and Harry. But the exchange reassured her as nothing else could have done: it wasn't until later that day that it occurred to her that had been the sole purpose of the exchange, which Snape and Black had created so effortlessly, with no more than a glance between them.

"Severus, you don't escape that easily," Dumbledore continued. "Not yet, anyway. Miss Granger, I understand you solved Professor Snape's logic puzzle to get to the Philosopher's Stone."

"It wasn't that difficult. That is - " To her relief Snape looked merely resigned.

"What did I tell you?" he said to Dumbledore.

"What good are logic puzzles to us?" demanded Madam Hooch briskly. "The only one of us who understands them is Severus."

"It occurred to him that Voldemort may not understand logic any more than we do," said Dumbledore. "Miss Granger is our resident expert."

"Me?" She looked appalled. "But I don't - I'm sure it's easier to solve a puzzle than to construct one." Correctly interpreting the look Snape gave her, she stood a little straighter. "It must be." She went to sit on the sofa beside him and took one of the macaroons on the plate that appeared between them.

"The obvious solution is for you to create a logic puzzle, which I will endeavour to solve as quickly as possible. Keep a careful note of how long you spend devising it," Snape added.

"How long have I got?" Hermione asked.

"How long will you need?" asked Dumbledore.

"I've no idea, headmaster. I could start work now, if you like."

"If you would, my dear. Once Severus has been tested we can meet again. I'm sure there are things you will need to know in order to assist us."

 

Hermione was too deep in thought to be conscious that she had appropriated Snape's desk, parchment and quill and snubbed his one attempt at conversation.

Propped against the wall because he knew that if he sat down he would fall asleep, Snape watched Hermione's face as she sat staring into space. There was an air of closed-off intensity about her that was all too familiar; it occurred to him with a jolt of surprise that he and Hermione did share certain characteristics.

It wasn't a particularly comfortable thought given how easy it was to forget their respective ages and positions.

Impatient with himself, he moved to a table set between shelves of books to prepare a Pensieve for the days concerning the preparation and making of the last batch of Wolfsbane Potion. Tired as he was, it didn't take long to strand out memories of the relevant time before skimming through them; the years of reporting to Dumbledore had increased his familiarity with the concentration required both to make and study a Pensieve. While in the early weeks his debriefings by Dumbledore had been conducted with the aid of three drops of Veritaserum, Snape had been the first to point out that was hardly conclusive proof of his trustworthiness given that interrogation by Veritaserum was only as effective as the skill of the interrogator. Even at twenty Snape's skills in that direction had far surpassed Dumbledore's. And it was as an interrogator that Voldemort had made use of his young protege. There had never been any crude violence employed on the occasions where the information was important to Voldemort - that came later, when the victim had offered up everything they knew - just the pitting of intellect to intellect and the skilled probing of a tortuous mind and flexible voice seeking out all the hidden truths in a battle of wits which Snape had never yet lost. Although the real skill had always consisted of ensuring some people didn't tell him too much - particularly with Voldemort watching the proceedings.

Even in the comfort and familiarity of his study, Snape shivered, memories shadowing his mind as he studied his outstretched hands. Technically they were clean of blood; he had never killed, the Dark Lord had never required it of him, but every one of those he had interrogated over the years had died. And he, why he consoled himself that he was doing Dumbledore's will, while trying to pretend he'd gained no pleasure from outwitting some of the finest wizarding minds.

 

"Professor Snape. I've finished. If you're sure you want to do this tonight," said Hermione. Some of her excitement at having finally remembered the puzzle her father used to tease her with as a child evaporated when Snape gave her a blank stare. It was obvious he had forgotten her very existence.

For a moment he continued to stare at her before life snapped back into his eyes. "Yes," he said shortly.

"I've written it down for you," she added, disconcerted by the sense that he had slipped away from her again.

"Why? Were you afraid I'd lost the knack of joined up writing?"

"It was that or dictate it to you. I assumed you would prefer the former," she said crisply. "When you try to solve the puzzle, don't forget, you can't use magic. Concentrate on not using magic."

"Yes, yes," muttered Snape, twitching the parchment from her fingers before he began to read. "Concentrate on not - Are you mad? You might as well suggest I stop breathing. A tempting option, no doubt."

"Just try."

He gave her a speaking look and after a short time began to read the parchment again. After the third reading, he glanced up, his former chill replaced by an unwilling admiration.

"How long did this take you to prepare?"

"Two hours and twenty four minutes. I made up one myself but it was very bad. It took me a while to remember this one, which is a puzzle my father told me when I was a child. I thought it might be sensible to test you on two levels - the elementary, then something more advanced."

Snape gave her a sharp look but it was obvious that impudence was the last thing on her mind. Her voice had the bossy tone she assumed when instructing Longbottom. For the first time he had an inkling about how Neville might feel and he didn't enjoy the unwelcome sensation of fellow feeling at all. He stared ruefully at the puzzle written out in Miss Granger's picturesque script.

'There was a man with a chicken, a cat and a dog. The man needed to cross the river using a boat which could only carry himself and one animal. The cat and the dog can't be left alone together, and the chicken and the cat can't be left together. How does he get all three animals and himself across the river?'

His elbows propped on the table top and his head supported in his hands as he resisted the urge to fidget with his wand, Snape could feel the ability to reason trickling out of the tip of his boots. Suspecting it was going to be a long night he ordered some tea.

 

On his return from the bathroom two hours later Snape began to stalk around the study, pausing beside Hermione, where she sat in a pool of light amidst piles of books.

"Don't concern yourself with research into the Wolfsbane potion," he said abruptly. "A Pensieve I prepared provided the answers."

"I've never..." Hermione gave him a look in which speculation was mingled with hope. His expression wasn't encouraging.

"You'll learn the technique this year."

She gave a resigned nod, then said blandly, "Have you solved the puzzle yet?"

Muttering something under his breath, Snape reluctantly returned to the table, which was already surrounded by scrunched up pieces of parchment.

 

One hand clenched in his unruly hair, exhaustion dragging at his eyelids, Snape was muttering under his breath as he scribbled.

"Yes," he hissed, tossing down his quill and jumping to his feet. "Got it!"

Hermione woke with a jolt, shooting up in her seat just as Lupin and Black stirred in their respective armchairs.

"What time is it?" mumbled Black, his black hair rumpled and one cheek reddened where it had pressed against the studded leather wing of the chair.

"I've solved the puzzle."

"That's good, isn't it?" said Lupin, still half-asleep.

"Not for my self-esteem," admitted Snape. "It's a child's puzzle. I've no doubt Miss Granger had already contrived a more advanced puzzle before she fell asleep."

Hermione nodded when he glanced at her. "Um, are you're sure you've got it right this time?" she asked diffidently.

Bristling with irritation Snape stalked over to where she sat and loomed over her. "Positive. The man makes four trips in the boat. First he takes the cat, leaving the chicken and dog behind. Second, he takes the chicken and returns with the cat. Third, he takes the dog, leaving the cat behind. Fourth, he takes the cat." His glare dared her to find fault.

"Well done, Miss Granger," said Lupin, coming over to join them. "You don't look very happy about your success."

Light-headed with exhaustion, Snape stopped looming to perch on the edge of the desk. "No, you don't," he noted. "As I recall, I made no promise to enjoy being bested by a chit of a girl."

Hermione stared at him round-eyed. It was the closest she had ever heard him come to an apology. "I'm used to you being bad-tempered," she dismissed, too tired to think of choosing her words more carefully. "It's just... I thought I was a good witch."

"You are," said Lupin, because he wasn't sure what Snape's response might be.

"Define 'good'," said Snape, ignoring the interruption. "Are you referring to your morals or one adept in the practice of magic?"

"Both," snapped Hermione. "No," she added immediately. "I meant the latter. Though I hope I'm the former."

"How depressingly correct," murmured Snape but the approval in his swift look helped.

"The fact I can do logic must mean I'm not as adept as I assumed I was," she added, having been battling a sense of alienation since she had become aware of the implication behind this testing of Snape.

"A chastening thought for any Gryffindor." Approval banished, Snape wore an unsympathetic grin.

Hermione glared at him. "I might have known you'd find it funny."

"Not funny, ironic perhaps. I understand pride - and arrogance. You might lack the power required to become a 'great' witch but you're one of the finest minds we've ever had at Hogwarts. Although honesty compels me to admit there hasn't been a lot of competition," Snape added in the same matter of fact tone.

"There's no danger of me getting swollen-headed with you around, is there," Hermione said, battling not to give way to her crushing disappointment at his confirmation she was never going to fulfill her dream of proving herself to those who persisted in believing children from Muggle homes made inferior wizards.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "You would prefer a flattering lie?"

"You know I wouldn't."

"Ah, then I'm just your whipping boy while you ward off disappointment."

Sitting back in her chair, Hermione shook her head in defeat. "I'm no match for you tonight."

Snape smothered a grin at that unconscious display of arrogance. "You need to sleep. The sun's about to rise."

"I'll escort Miss Granger to her chambers," said Lupin. "After all, she is next door to ours. You look asleep on your feet. And so do you, my dear. You should have gone to bed hours ago."

"It didn't seem fair to leave Professor Snape strugg - working by himself."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like more salt?" inquired Snape, swallowing a yawn.

"What?"

"To rub in my wounds," he explained blandly. "Go to bed," he added gently. "You can torment me again later today."

"Oh, good. Something to look forward to." Getting to her feet, Hermione placed a hand on his forearm for a moment. "Thank you for telling me the truth, though I don't know why no one told me before."

"It probably didn't occur to them that 'fame' was one of your goals in life. Ambition is a familiar concept to a Slytherin. Enough. Go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes," she said, and the satisfaction in her voice made Lupin smile to himself as he tucked her arm into his.

Black idly watched them leave the room. "She's a nice child," he said, with a trace of condescension.

"I'm sure she'd be gratified to hear you say so," said Snape. "I know what contaminated the potion. Remus is fine."

"You're sure?"

"No, I'm lying."

Black ran a hand over his face. "Just for once in your life give me a straight answer. Are you sure Remus isn't developing a tolerance for the potion?"

"I'm positive. It was contaminated by a minute amount of sugar. The mistake was mine," Snape added flatly.

Black's eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?"

Snape gave him a look of disdain.

"That's the first time I've ever known you admit you've made a mistake," said Black , ordering some black coffee.

"Don't bother making yourself at home," said Snape unpleasantly. "I want to go to bed."

"In a minute. I want to get to the bottom of this first. If you're voluntarily taking the blame you've either grown up or - Who are you protecting? It wouldn't be me, there would be no point keeping it from Remus and no one else is allowed in while you're brewing... Prospero's tits! It was Albus, wasn't it. Those bloody sweets of his."

"As Potion Master, the responsibility for any errors is mine. I contaminated one of my instruments in a moment of absent-mindedness. It won't happen again. Now go away. Come to think of it, I don't remember inviting you up here in the first place. What are you doing here?"

Tired as he was, Black wasn't so sleepy that he wanted to explain that Minerva had been concerned Snape might try to ravish her Gryffindor chick if he was left alone with her at night. Odd that she should be so prim and over-protective about her students when she was so uninhibited outside Hogwarts...

"I wanted to come and jeer, Remus came along to stop me. Do you really think Hermione will be able to help us fight Voldemort?"

Snape shrugged and sat in the armchair opposite the one Black was occupying. "I've no idea. I just know we need all the help we can get."

"Are things that bad? We need to know the truth, Severus," Black added quietly.

"I suppose you do," Snape conceded without enthusiasm. "Then, yes, they are. And in a few days they'll get worse when Voldemort holds the initiation ceremony for a new crop of Death Eaters. After all, it is harvest time."

"Harry won't be amongst them," said Black quickly.

"No."

"He wouldn't!"

Pride was the only thing which prevented Snape from rubbing his forearm. "Of course not. No Gryffindor could."

"I didn't mean it that way. It's just... Albus told me that the Sorting Hat wanted to put Harry into Slytherin."

Snape looked unexcited. "Given that it wanted to put me in Ravenclaw I shouldn't place too much reliance on that."

Black choked on his coffee. "I don't believe you."

"Situation normal in other words."

"You're no more a Ravenclaw than I'm a Slytherin."

"Oh, grow up man," said Snape wearily. "We all have elements of each House within us. Though some of us are less Hufflepuff than others. We're judged as much by our choices as from our characters - or perhaps they're the same thing. Slytherin was once a House to be proud of. One day it will be again. I'm going to bed."

"Do you ever regret choosing Slytherin?" asked Black.

Snape studied him with an insulting thoroughness. "How gratifying it must be to be you," he said at last.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Fuck, Severus. I'm scared shitless Voldemort has somehow turned Harry... Minerva's worried, too."

Snape cocked his head. "Interesting. I'm not. Not since it occurred to me how many times Harry has defeated the Dark Lord. I find it difficult to believe Voldemort would favour the direct approach when there are so many alternatives."

"It's a mess," muttered Black in a low voice. "I don't know how we've come to this. Wizards don't have wars."

"Which is why we're so bad at it. Muggles, on the other hand, never seem to have anything else. We could learn from them. We'll have to, if we want to survive," said Snape grimly.

"From Hermione?"

"From anyone willing to help us." His outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, Snape leant back in his chair, the lids of his eyes dragging with the fatigue which was slurring his slowed voice. "I learnt something else from studying the Pensieve I made."

Black went very still.

"Remus is never going to be able to brew Wolfsbane. Most of the energy has been yours, hasn't it?"

His eyes wary and defiant, Black nodded.

"You should have told me, Sirius. We've wasted too much valuable time - time I don't have."

"What? Are you ill again?"

"No. But... I have been Summoned more and more often in the last few months, usually for no reason than..." Snape grimaced. "I don't expect to survive until Christmas. You need to learn to brew Wolfsbane as quickly as possible. You certainly have the power required and you used to have the brain. I vaguely remember tying with you for first place once or twice."

"Once or twice?" hooted Black, successfully sidetracked. "I beat you to first place four years in a row. You'd be willing to teach me to brew Wolfsbane?" he added incredulously.

Snape gave him a tired look. "Teaching is what I do."

"Yes, I suppose it is." His fingers stuffed into the shallow pockets of his waistcoat, Black twiddled a booted foot. Shooting Snape a glance from under his lashes, he gnawed his lower lip. "I've seen something of what Voldemort's put you through. If I can do anything to help, tell me. We can settle old scores when Voldemort's dead. I mean it, Severus. I give you my word."

There was a short silence before Snape nodded. "Agreed," he said, his expression giving nothing away.

There was another lengthy silence.

"You heard that Harry won't be staying for the rest of the holidays after all." Black's tone was determinedly nonchalant.

"Yes." Snape offered no insincere protestations of regret but equally he made no further attempt to remove Black from his chambers.

"I can't blame Harry for preferring to watch Quidditch with his friend," muttered Black. "I mean, it's not as if he gets a lot of fun during the holidays. Those Dursleys..."

"The woman is Lily's sister. Somehow that seems to keep Voldemort from the area."

"Oh, I know all the reasons for it. I just... I don't think Harry has ever known what it's like to be free of fear. Can you imagine being eleven years old and learning you have to face Voldemort? The more he learns the more terrified he gets. Not that he says so, of course - even to me. In some ways he's very like James. I know he's sports mad but that's partly an escape from the reality of Voldemort. I sometimes think the reason he hates you so passionately is because you're a villain he can cope with. Apart from the fact you're a git to him, of course."

Snape gave Black a look of surprise. "You worked that out for yourself?"

"I could easily punch you again," said Black, without heat. "I suppose I should apologise for that last one."

"Why break the habit of a lifetime. I suppose Remus explained it to you."

"No. I managed that all by myself. Eventually. Harry likes Remus a lot. It almost makes up for the fact I can't be with him."

"I think I may vomit. Keep your sugary sentimentality to yourself."

"You really are a... I'm worried about Harry."

"He is his father's son."

"Yes," agreed Black, looking proud.

"That isn't a compliment."

"Yes it is. And you know it. "Have you ever used any of the Unforgivable Curses? I have a reason for asking," Black added quickly.

"Which is?"

"If Harry was threatened - ?"

"I'd leave the heroics to his fool of a godfather. I'm not his besotted parents. Lily died for that brat. He lived only because of her sacrifice but who remembers her? Harry doesn't. When he was choosing his Patronus he chose the stag - James."

"We remember her," said Black simply. "Those of us who loved her. And you're wrong, Harry thinks of her a lot - it's just not the Lily we knew. But he never got that chance and despite his courage he's still very young in some ways - far less mature than Hermione, for instance. He still thinks in stereotypes. Men are heroic and strong, woman gentle and nurturing, and of course there's truth in the stereotype but - "

"It's obvious he never knew Lily in a temper," interjected Snape.

Black gave a wry grin. "I've still got the scar where she hit me in the second year. When this is all over we'll start telling Harry about them properly but right now he's less interested in what they were really like than what he wants them to be - parents."

Snape cocked his head to one side. "I see the ability to think really is returning."

"I've always wondered. You and Lily - ?"

"No, we weren't," said Snape with resignation.

"How did you know what I was going to ask?"

"Because Albus did the other week. This preoccupation with my sex life is very gratifying. Trouble in Paradise?"

"Don't start," said Black mildly. "You forget, I know your diversionary tactics. Harry can't work out why you hate him so, now that he's had to concede that you're on our side."

"Having to do that must have hurt," said Snape with relish.

"You have no idea. I should add, he still doesn't trust you."

"Well, there's a surprise."

"Why do you hate him so?"

"Because he's his father all over again. So full of righteous certainty. He can do magic it took me fifteen years to master - and so much more besides. And he alone can stand up to Voldemort. My survival depends on a child who hates me." Snape's expression brightened. "If he really wants to know why I don't like him you could always tell him it's because he's the son I never had."

Black grinned, despite himself. "In an uncertain world it's comforting to know some things never change. You really are a bastard."

Snape failed to look modest.

"But about Harry," pursued Black doggedly.

Snape got to his feet. "Who do you think has been helping to keep him alive for the last six years? At great personal inconvenience, I might add. Of course I would do it," he added in a goaded tone.

Black sighed his relief. "Thank you for that, Severus." Getting to his feet he held out his hand.

Snape viewed it with interest. "Don't give me any credit. I'd do the same for any of the little bastards. It's what I'm here for. That and to stop the first years killing one another until they've learnt to control their magic, of course."

Glaring at him, Black managed to hold his tongue, although the effort almost killed him.

Smiling, Snape headed out of the room.

It was a moment of two before Black appreciated that Snape had left him alone in his study. He left before his baser instincts to pry should prevail. Besides, Remus would kill him if he destroyed this fragile peace.


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

 

Having breakfasted in solitary splendour, Madam Pomfrey was relaxing over a final cup of coffee when she saw Snape narrowly miss colliding with the door jamb as he came into the Great Hall.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Taken aback, Snape ground to a halt. "Would you like me to go out and come back in so you can insult me again?" He sounded as if even speech required more energy than he possessed.

Wondering how she could have failed to note all the signs of exhaustion the previous day, she fished for her wand. "Don't take umbrage." Without waiting for his consent, she began to take readings before glaring at him. "How much sleep have you had in the last few days?"

"I haven't been keeping count," he dismissed, easing on to a chair as if everything hurt.

"That bad? Lack of sleep impairs the mental faculties and slows physical reaction times. I wouldn't recommend you do any potion-making for a while. You should have used yesterday to catch up on sleep. What's the problem - nightmares? Don't glare at me, there's no one to hear us. Are they why you're not sleeping?"

Curling his hands around the large cup, Snape concentrated on drinking his tea. "About twelve hours I expect," he said. It took her a moment to appreciate that the most quick-witted member of staff was several sentences behind.

"Then it's time you had a Dreamless Sleeping Potion and twenty four hours in the hospital wing. You're no use to anyone like this." Experience had taught her the argument of usefulness was far more effective than concern for his well-being. "Your coordination is affected, your speech is halting - so heaven only knows what your thought processes are like - and your temper is erratic. Now I'm prepared to concede the latter is normal but you look...terrible. The tic in one eye isn't helping your looks," she added, hoping an appeal to his vanity might work where common sense failed. "There was absolutely no need for you to stay up all night working on that ridiculous puzzle - except you obviously didn't want to sleep. In fact I would go so far to say you didn't want to be alone, which isn't at all in character."

"That's enough!" On his feet, Snape swayed and sat down quicker than he had anticipated. He rubbed a hand over his face, the skin of which felt over-sensitised.

"I can't believe I missed all the signs yesterday," muttered Madam Pomfrey crossly. "Unless - Had you been eating medichocolate? Severus, concentrate. Oh, this isn't strictly speaking ethical but... Eat this. Slowly." She handed him two squares of medichocolate, then another, before pouring him more tea.

After a minute or so a little colour crept into his face. "Medichocolate? Uh. Yes. Albus gave me a slab. Then I shared another with Miss Granger. Why?"

"I'll have a word with Albus. There's a reason it's called medichocolate rather than Easifix. And where, pray, did Miss Granger get hers from?"

"Oh, that was me."

"I might have known. How would you feel if I came down to the dungeons and took over your Potions class?"

"If it was first year Potions I'd kiss you on the cheek and leave you to it," Snape mumbled, his head propped on his hand.

"I must put that to the test one day. In the meantime, do not - are you listening to me, Severus? - do not go around prescribing medichocolate. With nearly two slabs inside you it's a wonder we didn't have to scrape you off the ceiling. Why were you giving medichocolate to Miss Granger?"

"Menstrual cramps and bad temper," he said.

"I've never noticed medichocolate doing anything to improve your temper."

"I don't think anything could."

Taken aback by the sweetness of his sleepy smile, Madam Pomfrey patted his arm and stopped scolding. "The fact remains, you're exhausted. Remus left me a note. Apparently you fell asleep mid-sentence twice last night. It worried Miss Granger enough for her to come downstairs to ask for help. Which is why Minerva asked Remus if he and Sirius would stay with her. Didn't you wonder what they were doing there?"

Snape visibly thought about it. "From the knowing looks Sirius was giving me I think he assumed Minerva wanted him to act as a chaperone - in case I tried to inflict my manly passions on Miss Granger. Which just demonstrates how little he knows of Hermione," he added. The amused affection in his voice made Madam Pomfrey give him a sharp look.

"What makes you say that?"

"What? Oh. That considering look of hers. She's more than capable of depressing the pretensions of any would-be lecher. Or do you imagine my Slytherins haven't noticed how she's blossomed in the last year? It's amazing how House rivalries start taking second place to hormones around the age of fifteen or sixteen."

It was also comforting, mused Madam Pomfrey, to realise how obtuse even the cleverest of men could be. He had no idea that the child had a crush on him. But then hormones had blinded cleverer men than Severus Snape. Mentally congratulating Minerva on her foresight, she murmured something non-committal.

While his head was still propped on one hand, Snape was visibly reviving under the influence of the medichocolate and the caffeine in his tea. "Hermione didn't say anything to me about being worried." His stomach lurched when he appreciated how little he could remember of what he had said or done - catastrophic for a man accustomed to guarding every word and gesture. To buy himself time he poured himself some more tea but the question worrying him most slipped out despite himself. "Poppy, I didn't say or behave in an inappropriate...?"

"Of course you didn't," she said forthrightly. "No, it was just that at one point you claimed you were giving her the solution to the logic puzzle. What you actually gave her was the recipe for a hair conditioner - in Latin. When she queried that you snapped her head off, returned to your table and promptly fell asleep again."

"Ah," said Snape, a defeated slump to his shoulders. "I didn't realise things had got that bad. Wonderful. So she now assumes her Potions master is going mad. That's all we need."

"Give the child some credit. Not to mention my training. Sleep-deprivation isn't that hard to spot. Quite apart from the recent trauma of wondering if you had been transformed we're all anxious - waiting to see who we might have lost to He-Who - Voldemort. I imagine you have the added burden of remembering your own initiation."

His head whipped around but whatever retort he had intended died stillborn when he saw nothing beyond regret on her face.

"I'll take the damn potion," he muttered with poor grace, before he grimaced and sat back. "You're right, I'm no use to anyone at the moment. I was trying to make some Easiheal while I was talking to Albus yesterday - I couldn't even chop leeches properly. Once I've had some sleep I'll see him about using a time turner. I'll need at least a week to give you a decent stock of the basics. Lupin and Black can help me. Those supplies you used last term when I couldn't - "

"Your potions are infinitely superior," Madam Pomfrey said incisively. "They work faster, last longer and have fewer side effects. Hardly to be wondered at, I suppose. You are a Potions Master."

Even as a child he had been fascinated by the art of potion-making and its infinite possibilities and wonders. For a scientist who professed to be a pragmatist Severus had an odd, romantic streak - hence his tendency for making grand gestures, although he would be mortified if it was pointed out to him. Besides, it had its uses; the knowledge that his sinister looking figure was prowling the corridors helped to keep some of the more boisterous pupils in check. "I wonder you haven't ever supervised anyone yourself."

Snape gave her an unpleasant look. "That's a remarkably stupid comment, even by your standards."

"Don't you use that tone with me, Severus Snape! If you think for one..." Breaking off, Madam Pomfrey sighed. "You play us like fish on a line, don't you," she recognised sadly. "And it was a tactless question. I'm just jealous because I can't even make a decent Easiheal Potion."

"You don't need to."

"But I should be able to. My Pupillage was terminated after three months. Since then I haven't been able to... I've been wondering if I should ask Albus about getting me an assistant. Making potions for the hospital wing takes up far too much of your spare time - time you should be spending on research."

"Worry about it when I start objecting," he said mildly. "Although your idea has merit. We don't know how long I'm going to be - Who was your Potions Master?" he broke off to ask.

"Rakoczi."

"You studied under Rakoczi?" His tone was incredulous.

"I was considered a reasonably intelligent student," Madam Pomfrey said acidly.

"Stop laying traps for me. I meant only - "

"I'd stop there if I was you," she advised him, a twinkle in her eyes. "It was an honour and a privilege to study with Rakoczi - a fact he reminded me of every day of the three months I was with him. He was in England, working with the Ministry at the time. In the sixty odd years since then I've come to appreciate he's a poor communicator. Interestingly, he hasn't taken on a pupil for nearly fifty years. He's wise not to. His temperament isn't suited to teaching - although it took me some years to appreciate that." Madam Pomfrey stretched out her plump hands. "You've no idea how frustrating it is to know you have the knowledge and the ability and yet lack the skill."

"Too tense," said Snape. He sat back in his chair, life returning to his hooded eyes.

"What?"

"You're probably too tense. It can block the energy flow necessary to complete the process."

"Your classes are tense enough but they all cope - except for Longbottom, of course."

"Hatred is as good a way of focussing energy as any other. Oderint, dum metuant. But if they can make a potion with me breathing down their necks, making their lives hell, they should be capable of making one in an emergency. As for the first four years... My one concern with those dunderheads is to ensure they don't blow up Hogwarts, me - or themselves. Would you care to work with me for a few days, if you have the time," Snape added. "I think any of those who have been in my seventh year Salamander Level classes would give me a good reference."

Madam Pomfrey stared at him in disbelief.

"That was a stupid suggestion," Snape muttered a short while later, avoiding her gaze. His shoulders were hunched, his arms defensively folded across his chest.

"I would be honoured," she said simply, pushing her astonishment at the undreamt of offer to one side.

He looked up then, his mouth twisting. "Of course you would be. It's all right, Poppy. You - "

"Is there any chance of you letting me finish?" she demanded. "Don't glare at me like that. Of course I'm honoured. How many people are privileged enough to study under a Potions Master?"

"Every pupil at Hogwarts for the last seventeen years," he said but he had relaxed again. What little vitality the medichocolate had given himself was draining away in front of her eyes and she could see he was having difficulty in stopping himself from fidgeting, his fingers plucking at the shirt sleeve of his left arm.

"And not one of them appreciates the difference between a Potions Master and a master who happens to teach Potions. I'm not even sure Albus does," she mused, side-tracked.

"Oh, I'm in no doubt. He doesn't. But then humility is supposed to be good for Slytherins."

"Do you ever regret not being able to take your rightful place in the wizarding world?"

"My rightful place?" In two swift movements Snape ripped open the cuff of his shirt and thrust his bared left forearm at her; it was shaking. "With this?" His voice cracked with revulsion.

"My dear, there's nothing there," she said gently. Medical detachment abandoning her, the expression in his eyes made her want to weep.

The years dropped away from him. "You're wrong," he said hopelessly, looking lost and scared. "There is. And it will never go away. The Dark Mark is only a reminder of what's inside me. There is no way out," he muttered. "No way out. No way... I'm tired. So tired..." The murmuring faded away. Like a small child kept up past its bedtime he folded his arms on the tabletop and settled his head on them.

Madam Pomfrey stared at his bowed head, almost afraid to breathe. In the last five minutes she had learnt more about this intensely private man than in the previous twenty seven years. Once he realised what he had revealed the best she could hope for was that he would never speak to her again. It was several minutes before she appreciated that he had fallen asleep where he sat. Glancing up she saw Professors Flitwick and Sprout in the doorway; from their expressions they had obviously been there for some time. Fortunately their discretion was absolute.

"We'll eat in our chambers," said Professor Sprout in an undertone. "You'll stay with him? Sirius and Hermione mustn't see this. Severus would hate it."

"Of course."

"We have to change our tactics and be prepared to consider every option," said Flitwick resolutely. "Severus can't go on like this." His eyes overflowing, he dabbed at them with a lace-edged handkerchief, while Sprout patted his forearm.

"Nor can we, my dear. Nor can we."

***

 

Having called another meeting of the Inner Circle, Dumbledore beamed at those occupying various comfortable chairs in his office. The windows were all open now the heat of the day was done, allowing cool, sweet air into the room. Out in the darkness some of the owls could be heard hunting in the Forbidden Forest; inside the glow from the wall sconces flattered everyone, while casting fantastic shadows across the room.

"Isn't this nice," he said contentedly.

"Not really," said Professor Sprout, her manner brisk. "I've seeds in urgent need of preparation. And many more needing to be harvested. I've never been this behind before."

"You must co-opt help, my dear. Remus, Sirius, Poppy - and Miss Granger, of course."

"Don't forget Severus," said Black blandly. "Where is he, come to that? I haven't seen him since the day before yesterday."

"Asleep," said Madam Pomfrey. "I gave him a second dose of Dreamless Sleeping Potion this morning."

Dumbledore peered at her from over the top of his spectacles. "Isn't that a little drastic?"

Madam Pomfrey glared at him. "The next time you get the urge to feed Severus a whole slab of medichocolate you might want to pause to ask yourself why he's looking so ill. He's suffering from exhaustion - and stress. The mere fact he agreed to take the second draught should tell you how much. Kindly leave the diagnosing to me."

"Yes, my dear. I'm very sorry, I didn't think," said Dumbledore humbly.

"Why am I not surprised, you're a Gryffindor," Madam Pomfrey retorted.

The twinkle in his eyes grew even more evident.

As Hermione watched the changing expressions of Professors Flitwick and Sprout and Madam Hooch, it occurred to her that perhaps the Slytherins weren't the only ones irritated by members of her House at times. Then the ramifications of Snape's exhaustion occurred to her.

"This is a nuisance, it nullifies the results of the logic puzzle," she said, wondering why several people were glaring at her with disapproval.

"I'm all for single-mindedness but it's always useful to remember your patient is also a sentient creature," said Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione subsided with an abashed murmur, rebelliously aware that Snape would have understood.

Lupin gave her a sympathetic look. "Don't take it personally," he whispered. "Poppy's cross with herself for not spotting what was wrong with Severus yesterday."

"I think it would still be valid to discuss the results of Miss Granger's experiment," said Dumbledore firmly. "Severus didn't expect to do well. Hermione, my dear, if you will."

Dumbledore's study a treasure trove of items she longed to investigate, Hermione did her best to marshal her arguments. But try as she might, she soon realised she had lost her professors. Eventually she stopped talking and glanced at Dumbledore in silent appeal.

"Well, I'm sure that was extremely well put, my dear, it's just that... Let me see if I've understood you. Your logic puzzle is for Muggle children and easier to solve than the puzzle Severus devised to protect the Philosopher's Stone. You solved his puzzle in about ten minutes. Even allowing for his exhaustion he took far longer but he was handicapped by the fact you'd asked him to concentrate on not using magic. You didn't actually devise your puzzle, he spent four days of intensive work creating his." Dumbledore paused to chew reflectively on a chocolate caramel. "I know this is foolish of me but I don't understand how any of this helps us."

"It doesn't, in itself." Hermione did her best to ignore Madam Hooch's sound of impatience. "What it has done is open up some possibilities. Either the ability of a powerful wizard to reason logically seems to be seriously impaired in situations where they can't use magic as at least in part to solve a problem, or concentrating on not using magic impairs his thought processes to the point where -"

"Well, there's a surprise," said Madam Hooch. "Who would have thought that concentrating on two things at the same time would slow anyone down?"

But Flitwick was nodding his comprehension. "I think I see what you were getting at. Severus has been capable of using magic since he was three years old. It's as if you asked him to take a Potions class without being able to see, smell or hear."

"Not being able to use magic would be akin to not being able to breathe," said Professor Sprout, looking horrified.

"Exactly," broke in Hermione, now too excited to think of being nervous. "That's the crucial difference between those born into wizarding families and those of us who come from Muggle families. While using magic is as natural as breathing to me, I can still remember how to do things without it. Whereas all of you... You've never known that, have you?"

One by one the members of staff nodded, murmuring amongst themselves as they absorbed a concept they had never fully considered before.

"Ron or Malfoy are like you. They grew up saturated in magic. But Seamus - even Harry - would understand what I'm talking about. It might be a tiny part of what's helping Harry to defeat Voldemort."

"Tom Riddle is half Muggle," pointed out Professor McGonagall. "And reared in a Muggle orphanage."

"And from the information you've all given me he's been working towards waging war on Muggles ever since," Hermione reminded her. "Given that he and his mother were abandoned by his Muggle father you would expect Riddle to have turned to the wizarding world for support. Instead, he's using it as a means to destroy Muggles, while trying to prove himself more of a wizard than the most powerful wizard alive." She nodded in Dumbledore's direction. "But no one knows why he went after James and Lily Potter, only what happened. He hadn't allowed for Harry. Or was it Harry? Though his power is real enough, isn't it?"

"Now isn't the time to get side-tracked on inessentials. Is there any hope of you getting to the point - whatever it may be," said Madam Hooch briskly.

Professor McGonagall 'Ssshed' her but Hermione had barely noticed the interruption.

"I'm not sure. I'm sorry. I know I'm not being any help but at the moment I'm just thinking aloud while I try and identify our problems, hoping something will make sense. You used a chess game to protect the Philosopher's Stone - as if you didn't expect anyone to be able to play well enough to get through. Only Quirrell did. As did Ron. Real battles, real wars require some of the same skills... You should think about involving Ron."

"Yes." agreed Dumbledore. "I will speak to him - and Harry - when they arrive. But - um - about the protection around the Stone..."

Hermione went very still. "It was never meant to stop anyone, was it," she said, the chill of recognition creeping over her. "Just enough to convince Quirrell and keep out anyone who stumbled down there by accident. I love Hagrid but no one would trust him with a secret as important as the Stone. He even took Harry to collect it. We did exactly what we were supposed to do, didn't we?" It wasn't even a betrayal because from the perspective maturity brought she knew her eleven year old self would not have understood just how ruthless Dumbledore had to be.

"You did more," Dumbledore said gently. "We - no, I - didn't bargain on Harry having two such stalwart friends."

Hermione nodded absently, her attention clearly elsewhere. "Did you know Voldemort was part of Quirrell all along?"

"Only at the very end. Just as I knew Harry was our only hope of keeping the Stone from him. What I hadn't anticipated was being called away at the time I would be needed here the most."

"Tom Riddle moved so far into the Dark Arts that... Is Voldemort even human any more?"

Dumbledore sighed. "From what Severus has told me, Voldemort looks more reptilian these days. As for his soul, if he still has one... I don't know."

"Perhaps we should assume he still reasons as a human until the contrary is proved. Would some of you be willing to try play chess handicapping themselves by concentrating on not using magic while playing against opponents who can? And perhaps someone else would be prepared to try to solve the logic puzzle I gave Professor Snape? Only you would be able to use magic while you tried out the various permutations."

"Perhaps if you were to explain," said Lupin.

Hermione read out the puzzle. "You could create all the figures, the boat, the river. Or draw moving figures on parchment before trying to solve the puzzle. Obviously, you have to abide by the rules laid down in the puzzle. I wonder if the use of even such a small amount of magic would be enough to free up your ability to reason? You all have it in abundance, if you didn't, you wouldn't be able to run Hogwarts."

Dumbledore gave her a benign smile. "We don't run Hogwarts, my dear, Hogwarts does that very well by itself. But I do take your point. Are you suggesting this may help us against Voldemort?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "The truth is, I've no idea. I think I might be most useful to you all because of my Muggle background and cross-cultural references. While I have no doubt that I'm a witch, part of me still thinks like a Muggle. I can still remember what it's like to have to go through everyday life, let alone solve problems, without magic. If you'll permit it, I do have some questions to ask you."

"Ask away," said Professor McGonagall, glaring at Madam Hooch.

"First, what plans do you already have in place for taking the attack to Voldemort?"

"Attack?" echoed Dumbledore blankly.

"Deliberate aggression?" squeaked Flitwick, tears of dismay springing to his eyes.

"We couldn't do that," said Lupin, apologetic but firm.

"The very idea," sniffed McGonagall. "I'm surprised at you, Miss Granger."

Madam Pomfrey looked too appalled to speak.

Hermione glanced at Sirius Black, her last bastion of common sense.

He fidgeted where he sat. "It occurs to me that wizards and Muggles must fight in very different ways." He sounded defensive, even to his own ears.

"You mean there's no plan of campaign?" said Hermione.

"We protect the Muggle and wizard community as best we can. We do our utmost to keep the children in this school safe," said Dumbledore.

"And sometimes we fail," said Professor Sprout with sorrow, as she thought of Cedric Diggory.

"And sometimes we fail," acknowledged Dumbledore, the bleakness of ages in his eyes.

Hermione was tempted to pinch herself to ensure she was still awake. "I should like to be clear on this point, if you don't mind. Are you saying that all we do is defend - react to attack from Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

"What else should we do? We're not killers," said Professor McGonagall, looking troubled.

"Then there's Severus, who at my request returned to Voldemort two years ago," said Dumbledore.

"And has Professor Snape been able to supply you with any useful information?" asked Hermione, trying not to remember the figure twisted in agony.

"He has been able to mislead Voldemort on occasion," said Dumbledore.

"Mislead..." repeated Hermione softly, growing disbelief on her face. "On anything important?"

"Not as yet," said Dumbledore, looking down.

"So for the last two years you've been sending him off, time after time, knowing he won't be able to gain any information and knowing he's going to be tortured?"

"That's not fair, Miss Granger," snapped Madam Hooch, after a glance at Dumbledore's face.

"No, it isn't," she said, shaking with anger. "Least of all to Professor Snape. The only mystery is why he lets you use him this way. He must know you're killing him by inches - and for nothing!"

Angrily blowing her nose, she glared at the silent circle, too upset to notice how pale Dumbledore had become as he absorbed what she had said.

"And what about Harry? The Boy-Who-Isn't-Going-To-Live-Much-Longer. He was eleven years old the first time he faced Voldemort. He's met and defeated him every year since then and every time Voldemort becomes more powerful while Harry's powers stay the same. Oh, he learns a few charms, or how to brew a potion but he can't even Apparate - "

Lupin gave a gentle cough. "Actually, he can. I taught him last year. He doesn't have a Licence, of course but between you and me, the Ministry has never been very successful at preventing illegal Apparation - you'd be amazed how few of the Death Eaters have a Licence."

"Great. So now Harry has the means to get himself into trouble even faster. Can't you see," Hermione burst out. "If the wizard community had united to take steps against Voldemort years ago how many wizards and Muggles now dead would be alive - including Harry's parents? The high moral ground is all very well but continue with this - you can't dignify it with the name 'plan' - and we'll all be dead, or wishing we were, before the year is out! Although if you could play wizard chess with the lives of three eleven year olds at stake you shouldn't have any problem with Muggle warfare at all," she added, but she winced when Dumbledore flinched.

"How dare you suggest - " began Professor McGonagall, spots of colour in the centre of each cheek.

"You forget yourself," said Madam Hooch, her fierce yellow eyes boring into Hermione.

Professor Sprout held up a small, plump hand. "No, I believe it is we who have been remiss. Miss Granger is right. Voldemort's success has depended on the fact we persist in thinking he's a wizard when the truth is we don't know what he is any more. Part Muggle, part immensely powerful wizard, wearing the body of... Who knows what? We need to adapt. Difficult decisions have to be faced up to. We cannot defeat him if we go on in this fashion. The alternative? Do you really want to see our children prostrating themselves at his feet, with the world as we know it destroyed?"

There was a babble of sound as almost everyone in the room started to protest at once.

Curled up in her chair, Hermione felt cold and sick with nerves, not least when she saw the anguish in Dumbledore's eyes as he sat silent and still, his head bowed. With a murmur of contrition she knelt at his side, taking his hand in both of hers and holding it to her cheek.

"I know how I must have sounded just now. I was wrong to blame you. I can only imagine how hard it must be to make the kind of decisions you have to. And I know you have no choice - it's just... They're my friends. I worry about them. Forgive me. I never intended to hurt you."

Dumbledore patted her arm. "Oh child, of course I know. There, there. Don't kneel. Not to anyone. Though I fear that you may be right about the need to consider new... But it will be hard for us. We're not accustomed to..."

"War," said Black flatly. "We're talking of war. And one we have to win."

***

 

"Is it my imagination or are all the former heads of Hogwarts glaring at me?" asked Hermione, half-smiling, half-serious where she sat in Dumbledore's study the following afternoon. Because emotions had been running high, and there was still much to be discussed, he had arranged for her to see him 'for some more thinking aloud.' Various figures in the portraits lining the walls quickly found something to do when Dumbledore glanced at them.

"Wizards are a conservative bunch, my dear."

"I've learnt that much already," said Hermione with feeling. The atmosphere around the breakfast table had been distinct chilly this morning. "But the wizarding community needs to decide what is more important - tradition, or saving two communities from Voldemort by considering adopting some Muggle ploys, such as taking the attack to the enemy with a view to defeating him."

His elbows propped on the carved arms of his chair, Dumbledore studied her for an unnervingly long time before he spoke. "I can see why Severus enjoys his discussions with you," he said at last. "But you might want to remind yourself how Tom Riddle's fall began."

"Or mine," said a familiar voice.

Hermione half-turned in her chair to see Snape propped in the doorway, his arms folded, a familiar sardonic, closed-in expression on his face. He looked considerably better than when she had seen him last.

"Hardly comparable," she dismissed, turning back in time to see Dumbledore's face undergoing some strange contortion.

"Headmaster?" she said worriedly.

He waved away her concern. "It's was nothing, my dear," he said in strangled tones. "Merely a piece of toffee sticking my jaws together."

"A pity it doesn't happen more often," said Snape unpleasantly as he sank into the chair beside Hermione and subjected her to a hooded glare. "I understand you've created something of a stir."

"Good afternoon, Severus. What a pleasure to see you, and in such a good mood, too," said Dumbledore pointedly.

Snape's expression further soured. "I'm here because Poppy said you wanted to see me."

"I always enjoy seeing you. Don't grind your teeth, you're going to need them for at least another one hundred and twenty years. Perhaps afternoon tea before we begin work. Miss Granger wants to - um - 'pick our brains'."

"Which shouldn't take long in some cases. About what?" asked Snape.

"Ways to defeat Voldemort," Hermione said hardily.

"Oh, well, five minutes should do it. Headmaster, I had hoped to be brewing potions, not sitting here listening to some idiot-girl burbling about - " Snape stopped talking only when he realised Hermione had left the room.

"Satisfied?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Ah," said Snape, meeting a pair of disapproving blue eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I suppose you want me to go after her?" he added, a little time later, still caught in the spotlight of those eyes.

"My wishes have very little to do with the way events are shaping," said Dumbledore evenly. "We are all going to have to make difficult choices. I know Hermione sounds...arrogant. But she's just tackling what was requested of her the only way she knows how - by doing her research. Unfortunately she has to rely on us instead of source books. Soon it will occur to her to ask me for my memories of Tom Riddle. I taught him for seven years and never once suspected... No one enjoys revisiting the memory of failure. And while she undoubtedly has moments when she is less than tactful - "

Snape snorted.

"She is not - what is it you call us? - one of the bone-headed Gryffindors. She's - "

"Sentimental, over-emotional, do-gooding and - "

"Yes, I suspected you'd become fond of her. Will you answer me one question honestly? And I'd rather you didn't spend long deciding," Dumbledore added, with a tartness which won him a faint grin before Snape sighed and sat back in his chair with every appearance of ease, his long fingers linked over his flat belly.

"Ask away," he said with resignation.

"Do you believe there is any gain to us in you obeying Voldemort's summons?"

It was not one of the many questions Snape had been braced against hearing. "I used to," he said at last.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. "Then you must stop going."

"No," said Snape simply. "While I don't believe it, there is still a faint chance of my learning something useful. And while that exists it's worth - "

"Your life?" said Hermione, belatedly tapping on the door although she was already over the threshold. Breathless and pink-cheeked, she hurried into the room. "Here," she added to Snape, tossing a handful of photographs at him. "Reasons to swallow your pride and consider the idea that there might be other ways of fighting Voldemort."

"Miss Granger, I think you forget - " Snape fell silent as he righted the first photograph.

Her forearm propped on James' shoulder, amusement sparkling in her wonderful eyes, Lily gave him a broad grin before she blew him a kiss; James pretended not to notice. Two Muggles stood in stiffly formal poses; the man's bushy brown hair and earnest expression betrayed whose parents they must be. Cedric Diggory stood at the back of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, beaming happily. Snape's mouth thinned. Cedric had been a promising student. More Muggles, older, the woman with a look of young Susan Bones...

"Very affecting," he drawled, setting down the photographs without looking at the rest of them. The photo of Lily and James was on top - as usual, James was looking solemn until he glanced at Lily. Tucking his arm around her, he stared directly at Snape, then nodded, as if in approval. Making a sound of impatience Snape turned it face down on Dumbledore's desk. "It will take more than crass sentimentality to convince me that - "

"I'm to be trusted," completed Hermione, her clear voice cutting through his deeper tones.

"If you weren't trusted we would hardly be having this conversation."

"I meant trusted by you not to take advantage of any personal information I might learn. I don't blame you. Why should you trust me? I'm a pupil, a friend of Harry's and Ron's and - the greatest sin of all - a Gryffindor. The only reason I have to ask you these invasive questions is because no one else has had the opportunities you've had to see Voldemort."

"I'd never thought of them as opportunities before. How foolish of me. Given that I spend most of my time in Voldemort's company either face down in the dirt or writhing in agony I'm at a loss to know how you imagine I can help."

Unable to sustain the contained anger being directed at her, Hermione ducked her head. "I knew you weren't going to like it," she whispered, her hair slipping forwards to mask her face.

A disagreeable twist to his mouth Snape glared at her. "If you imagine I've enjoyed anything about the last few days you haven't been paying close attention. What, in particular, do you want to know?"

Her hands curled in her lap, she tried to untwine her knotted fingers. "What happens when you are summoned? Between you and Voldemort, I mean. What kind of a relationship do you have with him?"

In the space of a breath she found herself staring into the arctic waste of Snape's eyes before he rose to his feet in one smoothly economical movement. Without saying a word he stalked from Dumbledore's office. While he didn't touch the door, it slammed loudly enough to make Fawkes flinch where he sat on his perch.

For a moment it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

Hermione stared at her hands. "That went well," she said in a small voice.

"Why do you want to know those things?" asked Dumbledore into the silence.

"So I can gossip about him in the witches' toilet!" Hermione snapped, feeling shaken and out of her depth. A moment later she exhaled shakily and looked up. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, I'm... I don't see how I've done anything but make everything worse. But something has to change. It's obvious Professor Snape will have to continue to obey Voldemort's summons. If he can't make himself useful, either with information or some service he can perform, Voldemort will kill him. We need to think of things to stop that from happening that won't leave Professor Snape feeling soul-sick."

"Ah," murmured Dumbledore, with something that sounded oddly like satisfaction. "I couldn't agree more. Please go on, Miss Granger."

Steadied, some of the tension left her body. "It occurred to me that even monsters like Voldemort don't think of themselves as monsters. How does Voldemort view himself? Professor Snape is used to observing people - if he wasn't some first year would have blown him up years ago. I wonder if there's anyone left who ever shows Voldemort anything but fear, greed, ambition... We all enjoy praise, admiration, affection, respect... For instance, when was the last time anyone gave Voldemort a present?"

Dumbledore had to stop drinking his tea in case he choked. "You want Professor Snape to take Voldemort a present?" he said, careful not to look across the room.

"I know it sounds stupidly naive..."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said," drawled a familiar voice.

Open relief on her face, Hermione swung around. "You came back!"

"I had no choice," said Snape acidly. "The wards the headmaster placed on the door at the bottom of the steps prevented me from leaving." He strode over to the fireplace but as he reached for the bowl containing Floo powder it scuttled to one side. Unamused, he turned to glare at Dumbledore. "Tell me you're not serious."

"About keeping you alive? Very."

Snape directed an irritable glare at Hermione. Staring into the middle distance, she gave no sign of noticing. He began to prowl around the perimeter of the cluttered room; by the time he made the third circuit even Fawkes was glaring at him. Oblivious, Snape came to a halt behind Hermione.

"Headmaster," said Hermione, her voice tightly controlled, "during term time I have to tolerate Professor Snape looming over me. Do I have to put up with it during the summer holidays?"

"Not at all, my dear. Severus!"

"Headmaster?"

"Kindly stop looming over Miss Granger while she's trying to concentrate."

Guiltily aware that he had been inhaling the clean, sweet, unique scent of her, Snape nodded but stayed where he was against the wall, his hooded gaze on the back of Hermione's head. She had tried putting her hair up but it was too thick for that to have been successful, although it had the merit of revealing the tender nape of her neck and line from neck to shoulder, usually hidden by her hair. She had a pretty neck.

Voldemort would snap it like a twig.

After three more circuits of the room Snape again came to a halt behind Hermione and propped himself against the wall, his arms folded. When it came to it, he wasn't sure if he was physically capable of speaking and so he was surprised by how matter of fact he sounded.

"What is it you want to know, Miss Granger?" She raised her head but did not turn and he was grateful he didn't have to meet her eyes.

"Anything you're willing to tell me. Once I've had a chance to offer some ideas based on that information, if you wish someone can use a Memory Charm to remove...whatever you wish from my memory."

For what seemed like forever the only sound in the room was the rustle of feathers as Fawkes groomed his fabulous tail feathers. Without warning he stopped preening and flew to land on Hermione's shoulder, making her flinch with shock - it was the first time Fawkes had appeared to notice her existence. To her surprise, despite his size, she was barely conscious of his weight, the great talons light as the air itself. After tweaking her hair, Fawkes flew off and without needing to turn Hermione knew he had gone to Snape.

She shivered as the most beautiful sound she had ever heard filled the air: Fawkes was singing. To the pure in heart - even if Snape would deny that strongly. The golden notes soaking into her soul, she slowly straightened where she sat.

It was some time before she appreciated that it was silent again and that the atmosphere in the room had changed.

Finally Snape began to speak, in a measured, even voice that didn't quite succeed in pressing all emotion from it.

"First, you must understand that the Dark Lord will never forgive my desertion. He's still punishing Lucius Malfoy for the years he stayed away. He trusts no one. The Death Eaters are toys for his amusement, servants to do his bidding, slaves when it suits him. There is no camaraderie between the Death Eaters, only a rivalry for Voldemort's favour and the profit and power to be gained from that. And terror, of course. It's less his power over life and death than his imaginative ways of prolonging both. However, the Dark Lord did - and still does, I think - believe my return was voluntary simply because I waited so long and returned when there was no reason and nothing to expect except death."

Hermione had the sense not to turn around but she winced, beginning to appreciate why Snape had been so unwilling to discuss this, least of all with her.

"It's rare to see more than three or four Death Eaters at one time, all of them known to me. Often it is only the Dark Lord and Wormtail, sometimes Malfoy, Nott, Goyle and Crabbe. Malfoy assumes he is the Dark Lord's favourite; he is undoubtedly useful, with a large sphere of influence. To those who care about such things he's a pure-blood from one of the oldest wizarding families; unlike the Weasleys, who could make the same claim, he's also extremely wealthy. But he's not intelligent enough to hide the extent of his ambition, which is why one day Voldemort will turn on him.

"We are always summoned at night. Around two a.m. usually. Once outside the grounds of Hogwarts I Disapparate - I never know to where until I arrive. It used to be in deserted country locations but as the weather grew colder we began to meet underground - in holes, caves, old tunnels. Sometimes the Dark Lord inflicts Cruciatus the moment I arrive, waits until I'm capable of making my obeisance and then inflicts it again. At others I'm there for my irritant value - Malfoy never was particularly quick-witted. Sometimes Voldemort demands information - why haven't I brought Harry to him, or killed Albus, broken the wards around Hogwarts? All predictable. My failures are punished, sometimes in public, sometimes in private. Always with pain and its accompanying humiliations.

"Is this the sort of thing you need to know, Miss Granger?" The flick of the whip behind the evenly-voiced question was unmistakable.

"Yes, Professor," she said quietly, trying to demonstrate her support and respect in the only way he would permit. Tension made the muscles in her neck and shoulders ache. "As a Death Eater, what are your duties? I mean, what do you actually have to do?"

"In the last two years?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Oh. Then why does he call you to him?"

"Because he can, Miss Granger. Because he can."

"What were your duties seventeen years ago?"

Snape's hand went to his collar, as if it had grown too tight, despite the fact that the neck of his shirt was unfastened. "I was Voldemort's interrogator," he said, without justification or apology. He felt the shudder of revulsion which went through her from where he stood several feet away.

Dumbledore took one look at Hermione's anguished expression and calmly filled the silence.

"Voldemort reserved Severus' skills for the times when torture was inappropriate. For the times when he wanted the information most. The only tools at Severus' disposal were Veritaserum, his mind and his voice."

"Ah," said Hermione in an unsteady voice. She was too inexperienced to hide her relief. "That must have been...appalling."

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore. "What many people fail to appreciate - and fortunately Voldemort is one of them - is that Veritaserum is only as effective as the questions the interrogator asks. Voldemort was always present during questioning - in person or...otherwise. Severus often managed to prevent vital information from being given by misdirecting the questions in a manner subtle enough to deceive Voldemort."

"And at other times I failed," said Snape but a certain roughness to his voice betrayed him.

"Did you ever have to question other Death Eaters?" Hermione asked, still not turning to face him.

"Two or three. All now dead."

"Is there any possibility that you could hypnotise someone while they were under the influence of Veritaserum? There's a risk Voldemort might detect a magical trace if you used the Imperius but hypnotism uses no magic."

"Hypno - " Snape stopped. "I'm not convinced I fully understand what it is, let alone - Do you have any conception what - ? Never mind. It hasn't arisen since I returned to him."

"If he gives you nothing to do, yet keeps calling you back to his side... He already thinks you love him. Doesn't he?"

There were a few seconds when Dumbledore was afraid what Snape's reaction might be but Snape's control held; only his hands tightening over the stone behind him betrayed him. He couldn't bear to look at Severus' face - not least because he was afraid of the blame he would see there. He had sent Severus back to this. He was the reason Severus was humiliating himself telling a schoolgirl secrets he had guarded for eighteen years.

"As I said, I'm a toy to him and am treated as such."

"Would you describe Voldemort's relationship with you as paternal, mentor or - ?"

"Until I was twenty one I assumed it was that of mentor and pupil. I was wrong. Voldemort uses sex as a weapon."

Hermione locked her shaking hands together and rediscovered her ability to breathe. Stupidly, that kind of 'love' hadn't occurred to her. It was a measure of how hopeless Snape felt their position to be that he had even contemplated talking about such personal issues, let alone admitted that - She forced herself to concentrate.

"Did that continue after you went back to him?" Her voice betrayed her on the last word and she firmed her chin. Now, of all times, he needed them to be strong.

"Once. On my return," Snape said, in the same flat tone.

"Then he is still part-Human. Oh, Merlin, I didn't mean that the way it sounded!" She remembered, just in time, not to turn to him.

There was the sound of a sharp exhalation of breath from behind her. "Not human. Last time it was...different. So cold. Not human."

Her knees drawn up to her chest, her toes just visible under the concealing folds of her long dress, and her forehead propped on her knees it was difficult for Hermione to make herself any smaller. That didn't stop her from trying. Beyond tears, she forced herself to stay focussed despite a roiling nausea and the headache spearing behind one eye.

"Physically inhuman then. Mentally still capable of human emotions, if warped out of all recognition. Have the frequency of times he calls you to him increased over the last year?"

"To a marked degree."

"We have to find a way to balance keeping you in his favour without you ever having to do that again. Information. That's what you need. Rumours. Turn Death Eater against Death Eater. Keep Voldemort too busy checking the rumours to kill Muggles." She was feverishly driving herself on, anything rather than imagine... Another question occurred to her.

"What about other Death Eaters? Are they all...? That is, does he - ?"

There was a lengthy silence.

"Not to my knowledge."

"Would you be likely to know?"

"Hermione, my dear. That's enough," said Dumbledore. His voice sounded unfamiliar and spiked with pain.

"Yes. I think it is," she said. "And it hasn't been for nothing. I know it won't seem like it to you, Professor, but it sounds as if you're his weakness. He's been finding excuses to keep you alive. We need to give him something more concrete. Maybe a long-term project you could be working on. Does he test what you tell him - with Veritaserum?"

"No. He prides himself on being able to detect a lie from his Death Eaters. He's an arrogant fool in many ways."

"Even so, better if you can flirt with the truth. Feigning respect, flattery, affection... We can't use them too much because of the risk you'd have to... Information. We have to find things you've been doing behind the scenes. You could start by telling him you've been working to sabotage Professor Lupin's Wolfsbane but that it backfired because the transformation happened so early you almost got killed. It's close enough to the truth for you to be convincing."

"The idea has merit," said Snape after a moment, in something approaching his usual tone. "I'll have a word with Remus. If he agrees, he could start to look increasingly tired next term - perhaps more irritable, to indicate fluctuations in the efficacy of the Wolfsbane. The notion of Harry being killed - or even turned - by a werewolf who was once a friend would appeal to the Dark Lord."

"What about rumours that Harry's godfather is in Europe trying to drum up support against Voldemort?" offered Hermione.

"Not much help if I'm the only one hearing them," Snape pointed out.

"I might be able to help there," said Dumbledore slowly. "My brother - a libidinous fool - is currently residing in France. He's never grasped the meaning of respecting a confidence. With a little judicious spadework I believe the rumours should be easy enough to arrange in such a way that they aren't immediately traceable back to me. I'll set things in motion."

"Does Voldemort fear the headmaster?" Hermione asked Snape, conscious that she had yet to look him in the face.

"Given that the Dark Lord is unable to refer to the headmaster without insulting him, I would say yes."

"Would it work, at some point - obviously we can't try all these at once - if you were to tell Voldemort you're afraid the headmaster suspects you of spying for Voldemort. That he almost caught you eavesdropping when he and Professor McGonagall were discussing the spy they've planted amongst Voldemort's Death Eaters. A brave young whatever, ready to die for the cause of right."

"Voldemort would go through the most recent intake like a scythe through wheat," said Snape bleakly.

"And this would be a bad thing because?" asked Hermione hardily.

"Miss Granger, some of them may be ex- or even current pupils of Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

She met him, stare for stare. "My point exactly. After seven years at Hogwarts they have even less excuse for believing Voldemort's claptrap."

"You're not very forgiving."

"I'm not at all forgiving. Some of those bastards probably tortured and murdered my parents. Anything I can do to repay that debt - "

"Ah, so that's why you're so enthusiastic," said Snape in his silkiest voice. "Revenge. Only you prefer to keep your hands clean at the same time."

"I - " Fury coursing through her, Hermione swung around to glared up at him. "How dare you lecture anyone," she said finally, a scathing contempt blazing from her.

Snape flinched as if she had stuck him. There was a lengthy silence, during which the muscles and sinews of his face became more evident before he turned away to stare out of the window.

"I believe you have matters best discussed without a third party present," said Dumbledore, and quietly left the room.

Finally forcing herself to look up, Hermione found herself staring at Snape's thin-fleshed back. A study in stillness, he had closed in on himself. Small wonder. Against all the odds he had offered up his trust and she had just thrown it back in his face.

"Professor Snape, I - "

"Spare me any insincere protestations, Miss Granger. You spoke your mind. Don't let me detain you." A betraying roughness marred the richness of his voice.

"Please, you must know I didn't... It's difficult to talk to your back. I need to know what you're feeling."

"What I'm feeling? Let me give you three guesses." Stripped of artifice, he faced his tormentor, his sense of humiliation too immediate and raw for him to be capable of concealing it. "Satisfied?" he asked colourlessly.

The inadequacy of every possible reply left Hermione dumb and she made no further attempt at conversation as he walked past her and out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

 

Staring at the door which had just clicked to a close behind Snape, Hermione took a step after him, then stopped. What could she possibly say? He had trusted her enough to permit her to question him and when he had been at his most vulnerable she had thrown that trust back in his face.

Blind to all the treasures around her begging to be investigated Hermione took refuge in her chair again, burying her face against her upraised knees. It had been immensely flattering to have the people she admired and respected most turn to her for help - perhaps too flattering. It had gone to her head. To imagine she could help them when all she had done was criticise and alienate them. Professor McGonagall had been staring at her as if she had grown two heads. And Professor Sprout had looked so...sad, as if her worst fears had come true.

But if Snape and the headmaster imagined she was going to roll over and say she forgave those bastards who had tortured mum and dad they could -

Unless they thought all her suggestions for fighting Voldemort had been about revenge rather than doing what was right - what was necessary if they were to survive?

It was then that she remembered Snape telling her the Dark Arts were everywhere, Madam Pomfrey warning her about the constant need for vigilance, Professor -

They had all been worried that grief would make her turn - not against those responsible for murdering her parents but that she would turn to the Dark Arts to gain revenge, or perhaps even that revenge itself would lead her there. She had finally and belatedly come to understand with her gut as well as her brain that the worst thing you had to fear wasn't Voldemort, it was what lay within yourself.

There were times when she felt as if she didn't know herself at all. So many certainties had been shaken or completely uprooted, preconceptions she hadn't even been aware she held turned inside out. She scared herself sometimes with the extent of her hatred and anger, which sprang from concealment when she least expected them.

Feeling uncertain, afraid and very alone, Hermione tried to control her breathing, the fabric of her dress pressed to her nose, which was buried in the dip between her upraised knees. Her arms tightened around her legs hard enough to make the muscles ache.

She usually thrived on responsibility but right now she would have given almost anything to rid herself of it all. To go back to being plain Hermione Granger, destined for a First in the subject of her choice and a glittering career, with parents to be embarrassed by and moan about. What she hated about herself most of all was the anger she felt at them, for deserting her - and for the sense she had been unable to shake off that she was abandoning them every time she forgot and laughed, or enjoyed pitting her wits against Snape, or Madam Pomfrey, or started planning for a future in which they had no part.

She might never be a 'great' witch but she had the ability to cut to the heart of a problem faster than many, and the application to learn and apply what she had learnt. And her wand control was excellent.

She gave a brief, harsh laugh because even that was better than tears but did not raise her head from her dark cocoon. She wasn't ready to face the world yet, let alone herself.

It would have been such a relief to go back to worrying about schoolwork again but somehow it didn't seem important any more. It would have been even more of a relief to be able to believe that Dumbledore was an all-knowing, all-loving, dotty old wizard who never made mistakes, or that Snape was just a sarcastic, bad-tempered puppet without depth or complexities or a history which -

Not wanting to go there just yet, she raised her head, squinting in the brilliance of the afternoon sun, just as Dumbledore came back into the room, Fawkes on his shoulder.

"What, still here, Miss Granger?" Depositing Fawkes on his perch, Dumbledore sat behind his desk.

"Yes," she agreed vaguely, feeling exhausted, as if she had been on a lengthy journey too great for her strength. "I should have left when Professor Snape did. I'm sorry."

"I wasn't aware you had anything to apologise for. When did he leave?" While his expression was benign, there was something in it which made Hermione want to fidget. Other people's disappointed expectations were always hard to bear; Dumbledore's were just harder than most.

"A few moments after you." Her feet firmly on the floor now, her shoulders straight as she sat in the full beam of the sun, she concentrated on pleating a small portion of fabric from her dress. "I didn't mean what I said to him. It was just... " Before she could stop them words spilled from her, tumbling out one after the other in a dizzying rush.

"Why couldn't he have discovered what was going to happen to mum and dad? He could have stopped it. Could have saved them. Or you. You must know who killed them. You must have some idea, you know everything. How can you protect those people?"

"If I knew everything I would never have sent Severus back to Voldemort," said Dumbledore quietly.

As he had hoped that sidetracked her. "You mean he didn't tell you what Voldemort...?" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Are you surprised?"

"No. No, I would have expected nothing else from him." Exhaling shakily, she wiped a hand over her face. "I'm being ridiculous, over-dramatic, I know but sometimes... There must have been a way to stop it from happening to my parents. To the others."

"You think we would stand by and allow Muggles to die just because they're Muggles?"

"I don't know," said Hermione with truth. "Would you?"

"Oh my dear, we really have failed you all if that's something you have to question. Life is life, whoever it belongs to."

"Yet you protect pupils and ex-pupils who've become Death Eaters. You allow them to remain at Hogwarts."

"Are you referring to Professor Snape?"

Taken aback, Hermione stared at him. "That's not a fair question. He's different."

"And who's to say that another ex-pupil might not, after a few months, repent of a rash choice they made at eighteen? At least they would still be at Hogwarts, with easy access to people they can trust."

"But in the meantime, by allowing them to remain at school, you risk everyone else - particularly Harry. And Professor Snape - and his house, come to that. How can he be an effective head of house when he has to manage this ridiculous balancing act."

"You imagine a child is seduced by the Dark Arts overnight? It's rarely that simple. Most things happen one step at a time. At Hogwarts we turn no one away. The children of the blackest Death Eater are entitled to the chance to make their own choices as far removed as is possible from parental pressures."

"Because that's going to work so well with Nott, Goyle or Crabbe. Malfoy. The staff must be the only ones who don't know what they're like," said Hermione, suddenly angry again.

"Or the only ones who refuse to give up hope that they might learn to think for themselves," said Dumbledore, a hint of steel in his voice.

"I think their fathers killed mine. If I ever find out for certain I'll kill them. I'm not like you, Headmaster. I can't forgive them. I won't!"

"You would hold them guilty for the sins of their fathers? You'll find yourself facing Severus. He takes the safety of those in his care seriously. As do all of us who work here. It isn't necessary to love or respect those you protect - although I admit it makes the task a great deal easier."

"No, I meant their fathers but - I... I want revenge," Hermione whispered, her hands clenched in her lap as she shook with the force of the emotions racking her. "I want blood."

"If it's any comfort, I believe you probably drew some in this office earlier," said Dumbledore.

Her head rising, some of the ferocity left Hermione's eyes before her shoulders slumped as she picked up on the reference. "From Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore nodded, noting that yet again a reference to Severus had managed to divert her. "In an extremity of grief it isn't uncommon to lash out at those closest to us. I'm constantly amazed how our instincts know with whom such behaviour is safe."

"Professor Snape - "

"I have no doubt he will be better able to rationalize your reaction when he is feeling less...exposed. He trusted you, child."

Hermione looked away from those all-seeing eyes. "I know. It's why I tried so hard to be careful in the way I questioned him. I didn't want to do anything which might make it even more difficult for him. Right up until... I can't believe I said that to him."

"The fact remains that you did. What concerns me even more is your thirst for revenge. If you're not careful it will eat away at you until there is nothing else left. When my dear wife was murdered by Grindelwald I believe there was a period when I lost my reason. I never realised I was capable of such hatred. I would have killed him with my bare hands. I would have done anything, used anyone, anything - even the Unforgivables.

"Yes, my dear. Even those. But I was fortunate in having some dear friends. March, Ceres -and others no longer with us - all of whom went through some difficult and unpleasant weeks on my behalf as I savaged them. But it's thanks to them that by the time I had to meet Grindelwald in a wizard's duel I was thinking about more than my own loss. Something I would not have believed possible earlier. I don't pretend my experience was the same as yours, or that what worked for me will help you, but I do understand something of the grief - and rage - you are experiencing. I can only say that trusting in friends enough to confide in them helped me. As did work - particularly hard, physical labour. And time, of course. But we all react in different ways, at different times. There is no right or wrong reaction, only the impulses that drive us. But we don't have to be ruled by them completely. You have a fine mind, an active conscience and a loving heart and you offer them up without thought for your own well-being. Your parents must have been so proud of you. In their absence we trust you to do the right thing."

Hermione went pink at the compliment paid to her. "I - I don't deserve it. Not now."

"Really? And what has occurred to bring about this change?"

She blinked. "You were here. You heard what I said to Professor Snape."

"Ah. That. As you already know yourself, from your experiences with Messrs Potter and Weasley, we sometimes tolerate from our friends things that would be unthinkable from anyone else."

"Friend?" Hermione could feel her flush extending down her neck and chest.

"You don't consider Severus to be a friend - or that he might regard you in the same light?"

"Uh. You think he does?" The irritating squeak was back in her voice.

"I wouldn't presume to speak for Severus, or claim to understand how his mind works much of the time, but I would have said so. Although whether he ever will is another matter. The trick with Severus is to pay attention to what he does, not what he says while he's doing it."

Despite herself, Hermione grinned. "I think I already knew that." Her smile faded. "His remark about revenge caught me on the raw, so I - "

" - lashed out. Of course. How could you not? You've been studying under a master all summer. It's a highly effective defence mechanism."

"He'll never forgive me," muttered Hermione miserably. Even Harry and Ron would have taken weeks - maybe more.

"Nonsense. Once he knows he still has your respect - assuming that's true, of course - I feel sure - "

Hermione stared at Dumbledore in honest puzzlement. "Why wouldn't he? He's the bravest person I've ever met."

"Yes, well I shouldn't try telling him that. Severus doesn't react well to compliments."

"It doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate - even need - them."

There was a startled silence.

"Just so," said Dumbledore, swallowing the unwelcome experience of being brought to task by a pupil. What made it all the more unpalatable was his suspicion that she might have a point.

Hermione grimaced. "And now I've offended you, too. If you'll excuse me, I should leave."

Dumbledore nodded, grateful that not all Gryffindors had such forceful and forthright personalities.

 

Too accustomed to Snape's expression of black fury to pay it much attention, Professor Sprout detained him by the simple expedient of stepping out in front of him, thus blocking the doorway through which he had been about to pass. For a moment she wondered if that might have been a mistake before his natural good manners brought him to a standstill.

"Yes?" His tone was not inviting.

"You were kind enough to say you would attend to the removal of the willow root at the fringe of the existing market garden so I can prepare the new seed bed. You haven't forgotten that it's manual labour only? No magic. A badger sett goes past only a few feet from the root and after all these centuries I see no reason to disturb them from their usual runs. Severus? Are you listening?"

"As if I had any option," said Snape disagreeably, before he focussed on her for the first time. "You want it done now?"

"You don't appear to be doing anything else. The fresh air will do you good." That the exercise would help dissipate some of the energy virtually crackling from him was a thought she kept to herself. But she couldn't shake off the feeling that he had just received some appallingly bad news. Knowing better than to touch him, she said, "Is everything all right?"

The ferocity of the look she received made her blink, then he was gone. But when she arrived in her quarters she glanced out of the window and saw him heading in the direction of the market garden.

 

Two and a quarter hours of hard physical labour did much to dispel Snape's sense of humiliation. Sweating and breathless he slumped on the side of the root with which he had been battling, pensively eyeing his palms. Hands toughened by years of potions-making had withstood only twenty minutes digging before the first blister had formed. He was getting soft.

Well, that was certainly true.

Merlin's balls, what had he been thinking? Well, of course, he hadn't. That was the crux of the problem. Bad enough that he should have allowed himself to be turned into Voldemort's lapdog, whatever might have been done to him, but to confess the fact to a pupil?

The enormity of his mistake coming home to him, Snape stared sightlessly into the depression the root had occupied, knowing he didn't have the luxury of being able to hide away.

 

A sense of being under surveillance penetrating his abstraction, Snape looked up to see the last person he wanted to talk to heading in his direction. Dishevelled, dirt-streaked and his black shirt unfastened almost to his navel, he still made an imposing figure as he rose to his feet in an automatic gesture of courtesy as she approached.

"Please don't go," Hermione said, her voice high and tight with nerves and her senses awash with him. "I know I must be the last person you want to see right now but... It was just temper talking. I didn't mean it. I swear it. I just used the weapon you gave me."

There was no point pretending not to understand her. "I noticed. Potions classes should be interesting next term."

"That won't be an issue. I intend to keep my promise about having the memories erased. I just wanted to apologise to you while I still remembered an apology was necessary."

"Fine. You've cleared your conscience. Don't let me detain you." Suddenly appreciating that his left forearm was bare where he had rolled up his sleeves, Snape drew them back down, fastening the cuffs, before taking out his wand. "We're done, Miss Granger. And you're in my way." Using a Lifting Charm to move the willow root from the area, he proceeded to ignore her totally.

As he headed back to Hogwarts he knew she was still standing there, staring after him. He would have to get used to that until she forgot the more salacious details of his revelations, he went to the hospital wing. Successfully liberating a bottle of Easiheal Potion he turned to find Madam Pomfrey watching him with a quizzical expression. It was another ten minutes before he was free, although he had to concede, she had done a good job on his hands.

Feeling twitchy and exposed, he wondered if it was his imagination or had she been looking at him oddly. His stomach roiled as he wondered if he might have said or done anything the other day, before he had caught up on his sleep. Exhaustion had provided a legitimate excuse not to face his demons but did he really want to ask for another Dreamless Sleeping Potion? He could brew a batch of course but the process was time-consuming. Besides, it wasn't advisable to take it often. Even nightmares were better than no dreams at all.

It wasn't that he was afraid Hermione would discuss what he had told her but she was oozing doe-eyed pity and girlish sympathy. Just what he wanted. Not.

He would give almost anything not to have to meet Albus' eyes.

Time to close down - if only he could remember how - and deal with this the way he had dealt with everything else in his life - one minute at a time.

But maybe not right now, he eventually conceded, going back to the hospital wing for another Dreamless Sleeping Potion.

***

 

Sprawled on the grass under the shelter of an ancient oak tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Snape was so deep in thought that he didn't hear Dumbledore's approach until the headmaster stood beside him.

"I'm glad I've finally tracked you down," said Dumbledore. "No, stay where you are. Have you been here long?" He settled himself beside Snape.

"Just after dawn. The sun woke me. I wanted space in which to think."

"Ah," said Dumbledore after a moment. "You're angry," he noted.

Snape's head shot up. "Take long to work that out, did you? Of course I'm angry. Not least for placing myself in the position where I must answer to a chit of a girl who can spend the next year in my class feeling sorry for me! If I'm really lucky she'll want to take Potions at Salamander Level, adding to my joy." His mouth compressing, he fell silent but he gave Dumbledore an edgy look. He hadn't planned to see Albus until the headmaster had had a chance to forget the revelations he had been stupid enough to make to Hermione.

"Severus, I - "

"Don't! I don't need sympathy, or a lecture, or counselling or a pep talk. And I certainly don't want an offer of Obliviate. Clear?"

"Very," said Dumbledore.

"You were never supposed to know about - " His mouth compressed, Snape fell silent.

"So I realised," said Dumbledore quietly. He had spent a sleepless night contemplating the extent to which Severus had chosen to protect him, while gaining a better understanding of the events of eighteen years ago. It had not been easy to face up to the knowledge that even if he had known, he would still have sent Severus back to Voldemort. Worse, he suspected that Severus already knew that and had chosen to relieve him of the necessity of making that decision.

For some time the only sound was that of the bees harvesting nectar from the dog roses tangled in the nearby hedgerow; there was no birdsong, nothing that toothsome survived for long this close to the Forbidden Forest. The butterfly which had been perched on Snape's wrist, drinking the salt from his skin, flew away. Remaining silent, Dumbledore lightly caressed the back of Snape's head.

Without haste Snape moved to escape the contact, his gaze on his knotted fingers. What could be seen of his face between the swathes of his unbound hair looked stark with muscle, his curtaining eyelashes shockingly dark. He flinched when an apple bounced off his shoulder.

"Morning, Albus! Ah. There are people who would pay a small fortune to see Severus Snape sitting at their feet," called Black as he strode up to where they sat, immune to the prevailing atmosphere.

"Sirius!" said Dumbledore with exasperation.

Making no attempt to rise, Snape stared up at Black, a dangerous expression in his eyes. "You think they would? I'm here to serve. I've certainly had plenty of practice."

"Severus - " began Dumbledore.

Snape gave no sign that he had heard him, his eyes boring into Sirius. "The Dark Lord insists that we first drop to our knees before prostrating ourselves and inching forward on our bellies to kiss his boot. If we lick it he sometimes forgets to kick us before he moves on to other pleasures. What would you like from me? I've been well-trained," he added in the same damask-soft voice that both stroked and spiked the senses.

"Well, I wouldn't mind watching," said Black. "Though if it's the kiss of a boot you crave I'd be happy to oblige."

"Sirius!"

Both men ignored Dumbledore.

"I'm sure you would." While he had yet to move Snape was clearly poised to attack as he goaded Black into violence with nothing more than his silken voice and the expression on his face. It was obvious he was spoiling for a fight - and from the look on Black's face close to getting his wish.

"Enough!" said Dumbledore, in the tone he used rarely but always to great effect. "Sirius, I'm ashamed of you, sneaking up on us like that. Tell me what you overheard when you arrived."

"Sneaking?" Black's surprise was obviously genuine. "It was the last thought on my mind. I heard nothing. I give you my word," he added. "You had just rested your hand on Severus' head. I lobbed the apple to make him jump. I didn't mean any harm by it."

"That should be inscribed on your tombstone," said Snape but the edge was gone from his voice. In fact he looked faintly embarrassed by his over-reaction.

"Leave us," Dumbledore told Sirius sternly. "I'll speak to you in my study tonight. I'm not prepared to tolerate this childish - yes, childish! - bickering when we should be concentrating all our energies against the common enemy. Now go away. I want to talk to Severus."

Making his escape while he could, Black loped through the lush knee-high grasses. Only now, with the sun on his face, the sweetness of the meadow in his nose and his body responding to the demands he made of it did he realise he was free of Azkaban - except for the portion he still carried around in his head.

He didn't envy Snape his interview with Albus. The last time he'd seen Dumbledore this furious had been when he had sent Severus into the Whomping Willow after Remus.

On the rise of the hill he turned and saw the figures of Snape and Dumbledore in the distance. Squinting, he shaded his eyes. If he hadn't known better he would have said Snape was comforting Albus...

Shrugging off the thought, he walked into the orchard, hooking several Victoria plums from a tree as he passed. Because they were too juicy to eat while walking, he settled himself on the grass to enjoy his haul. He hadn't let himself think about what had taken place between Snape and himself for years. It was hardly surprising; he had come out of it even worse than Snape. Yes, he'd felt hurt and betrayed and angry enough to obliterate Severus from the face of the earth but never once had he stopped to think about the possible consequences to Remus. Or to Severus himself. He'd hated him but not enough to see him trapped in the same half-life Remus endured.

And all because Severus had given him his closely-guarded heart's desire and gone to bed with him. Afterwards, when he had started to babble romantic nonsense about their future together, Severus had turned to him, his face alight with malice, and laughed. Only then had he discovered it had all been a trick. That Snape had used sex, as he used every other advantage he had been given, to his own ends.

His face stilled burned with the echo of that scalding humiliation and the bitter pain of unrequited love.

Why had it been Severus? Even when they were eleven he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the sulky, self-possessed little git. How anyone so ugly could have that much sex-appeal was a mystery. Besides, how had he managed to fool himself that Snape felt anything for him but the loathing he'd felt for all the Marauders. All except Lily.

Why couldn't he have spent all those years pining after James - or Remus? But no, it had to be Snape. He'd never been able to forgive Snape for not loving him when he had been so in love himself. Or what had passed for love at seventeen.

Being seduced into spilling the inmost secrets of your heart was no reason to try and kill someone. Or much of an example to set Harry.

Small wonder Severus still hated him so. When James had pulled Severus out of the Whomping Willow Severus had been so terrified he'd pissed himself. But then so would most people coming face to face with a werewolf without warning. Poor James. It was lucky he hadn't expected any thanks. But then James had Lily, whom Snape had... Had he loved her? He'd said not but... Was Snape capable of loving anyone - even himself?

Who knew or cared. It had been a tangle, everyone in love or lust with the wrong person, except for James and Lily - with Peter fucking Pettigrew muddying the waters at every opportunity. Peter should have been in Slytherin. Although they said there was nothing worse than a Gryffindor who went bad...

Harry would be all right. No son of James and Lily's could be otherwise. But... Staring up into the canopy of leaves above him, Black finally admitted what bothered him most. How close he had come to losing himself. It was too easy for hate to become a habit. He had clung to it in Azkaban because at least it had enabled him to retain his sense of self. Ironic that he owed his sanity to hating Severus - amongst others.

When you came down to it, it was crazy to hold a grudge against the man who had given you some of the best sex of your life. Yes, Severus had been toying with him but...

It was time to let go. Albus was right. They were different people from all those years ago - and there were more important things.

Like Remus.

He was tired of clinging to old hatreds. He wanted a life with his lover, a home - a chance to get to know Harry and give him the family life he so desperately wanted. And Harry needed a godfather he could rely on to do the right thing.

Getting to his feet, Black was two hundred yards closer to Hogwarts when he stopped, grimaced and reluctantly headed back to where he had left Dumbledore and Snape. He may as well start that truce he had so rashly promised Snape the other night.

Dumbledore was gone but Snape was a graceful sprawl along a gnarled, low-growing branch, his back to the immense trunk. He looked... Still trying to identify what was bothering him about the other man, Black paused, then hooked himself up on the branch close to Snape's outstretched feet.

"If you've come back hoping to get your boots licked, you're too late," said Snape without looking up.

"No. What I said earlier..."

"Let it go, Sirius." The warning was unequivocal.

Black took his usual amount of notice. "Look, what I'm trying to say is - " He caught hold of Snape's ankle.

"Move it or lose it," Snape warned.

This time Black had the sense to listen. "I came back to apologise!"

"Then you can leave with a clear conscience. Apologise for what?" Snape added a moment later.

It belatedly occurred to Black that Snape's anger was a camouflage for something else. Something had hurt him. Or someone. Hurt him more than he knew how to deal with. But because of it Black told the unvarnished truth.

"What I said - not that you would have believed it. But mainly for putting you and Remus at risk all those years ago. I wanted you scared out of your normal cool. Nothing got to you. I wanted to make sure something did. I wanted you terrified and grovelling. It never occurred to me that you could have been killed, or transformed. Let alone what it would have done - did," he corrected himself, "to Remus. It killed our friendship. I hurt him so much with that betrayal. And you... I don't think I ever fully appreciated what I did to you until last week, when we didn't know if you'd been infected. I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"The perennial cry of Gryffindor down the ages," murmured Snape but he was too taken aback for there to be much bite in his voice.

"Only some of us," said Black. He was surprised to discover he was experiencing none of the humiliation he had been expecting, only a curious sense of relief. "I should have apologised before only I wouldn't let myself think about it. To this day I've never really explained it to Remus. Why I hated you so much, I mean."

Snape studied the toes of his boots. "Don't you think you should?"

"That would mean telling him I'd loved you."

"You mean you thought you did."

"I did, you bastard. I - Well, yeah. Thought I did," Black admitted with a poor grace. "Remus has taught me what the real - " Embarrassed, he stopped.

"How he stomachs you is beyond me," said Snape idly.

"Me, too," conceded Black, rubbing his nose. "But he does. In fact... You know that we're - ?"

"Oh, please."

"Yeah, I suppose you would know. He likes you." Black's incomprehension drew the faintest of smiles from Snape.

"Don't worry. It isn't catching."

"Don't you ever stop? I'm trying to - "

"I know what you're trying to do and there's no need. I've made my peace with Remus. It's just that... I can't forget who - what - he is," Snape muttered.

"Only around the full moon. And not from choice. He's the gentlest, kindest of men and he fights so hard not to..." Again Black stopped, glaring at Snape as if daring him to comment but Snape was studying his boots again..

"While we're so busy bonding, I suppose you realise I'm responsible for the whole sorry mess," said Snape. "If I hadn't seduced you - "

"You seduced me? Why you egotistical - " Black stopped. "I wanted to kill you when you told me what good sport I'd been. I wanted to make you..."

"Yes," agreed Snape tonelessly.

"I still... Hurt pride," Black added.

"It's always been a talent of mine," said Snape.

"What?"

"Knowing exactly which spot to strike first. Sex should never be used as a weapon."

"You didn't hurt me," said Black quickly. "Far from it. It was...wonderful," he added bleakly.

Snape gave him a patient look. "It was supposed to be," he said, before he rubbed his face. "I would have given you over for the Dementor's Kiss."

Black shivered, despite himself. "But you didn't. You didn't kill me in the Shrieking Shack when you had the chance either."

"But I wanted to. You have no idea how much I wanted to."

Staring into those dark eyes and seeing absolutely nothing, Black believed him implicitly.

"So much for our truce," he said at last, his shoulders slumping. He was tired of fighting.

"Oh, I don't know. We're both alive with our faculties more or less intact. Were you serious about wanting to brew potions?"

Black looked up, direct and intent. "Very. And not just for Remus' sake. I know you won't believe this but I'm not sure how I'm going to get through another term. I'm so bored having to stay in our quarters. I know I can get out in my dog form but it's hardly stimulating - except to the senses, which doesn't help anything. There's nothing to occupy my mind but..." Looking self-conscious, he stopped and shrugged.

"Then the sooner we fill those echoing spaces in what passes for your brain, the better. Come on. I've promised Poppy that I'll fill her store cupboards. I need all the help I can get." With a supple flick Snape was on his feet and heading for Hogwarts.

Black hurried after him. "You think I'm good enough?"

"For many of the basic potions, certainly. Once the hospital wing has the supplies it needs we'll start work on the Wolfsbane again. You might want to do some reading."

"I have been," Black admitted. "Though I won't be able to do much once term starts. If Remus starts borrowing too many books on Potions it will attract attention."

His hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, the length of Snape's stride increased, as if he was trying to outpace his thoughts.

"Serpens Tower is screened. You can use my library. You can work in the laboratory when I'm not there. When I am, you leave. Clear?"

"Clear. Thank you, Severus." He eyed Snape's shark-like smile with obvious distrust. "What?"

"Don't thank me until you've seen how much work I have planned for you. You had a good brain once, but it needs exercise. If you have questions, ask them. We don't have time to waste. Ah, I see Remus has come to check that I haven't disposed of your body."

"It didn't occur to you that might be the other way around?"

Snape glanced at him. "No," he said with simple arrogance. "Remus, good morning. We're going to brew potions. Would you care to join us?"

"Yes, I should." Without thinking Lupin moved between the two men, tucking an arm in each of theirs. It was a moment or two before he realised what he had done. His arm slid from Snape's.

"Severus, I beg your pardon," he said formally, before he stopped in his tracks. "You didn't flinch away from me! And you don't smell of - There's hardly a trace of fear."

Snape glared at him self-consciously. "How are you at identifying irritation?" he inquired.

"I suspect I'll be improving in leaps and bounds," said Remus, his smile reaching his eyes. "You're really over - ?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Snape shrugged. "It would seem so. I presume I have my four days in the cellar to thank for that. Between a wolf, a dog and a Potions Master we have three of the best noses in the business. Don't even think of saying it, Sirius," he added.

Black just grinned and led the way into Hogwarts.


	14. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

 

Tension locking her neck, Hermione watched Snape disappear from view through the gate leading out of the walled garden. While it was no surprise that he didn't want to be anywhere near her it would have been pleasant to be proved wrong. Although she understood his reaction; if their positions had been reversed she would have reacted in exactly the same way. But that didn't take away the hurt, or sense of loss.

Her instinct was to retreat to her rooms and not come out until the start of the new term; unfortunately that wasn't an option, she had too much work to get through. She had the sinking feeling that by the time she had completed her research Snape wouldn't be the only one avoiding her.

Settling down in a secluded part of the library she feverishly began to make lists of the topics on which she need information, and the professors most likely to be able to supply it.

Professor Dumbledore: wizarding history since the rise of Grindelwald: the function and powers of the Ministry of Magic and the Aurors; and a Pensieve about the years he had taught Tom Riddle.

It might be prudent - and practical - to test to see if Professor Lupin was more vulnerable to the Dark Arts around the time he transformed. Did the fact other werewolves lost themselves in the transformation mean they would be useless to Voldemort? Would Lupin be able to attack as a werewolf yet retain the ability to reason as a human? He wasn't going to like that one... Or if it was true if only a silver bullet through the heart could kill a werewolf.

Mr Black. First, the easy part, life as an animagus. Second, the tricky bit. Azkaban. He must know more than most about the Dementors and how to survive them. And presumably how to focus concentration so tightly they couldn't break through it.

At least there was nothing that could offend Professor McGonagall in practical applications for Transfiguration and life as an animagus.

In a battle there weren't going to be many - if any - of them willing to use the Unforgivables. So how to disable Death Eaters and other allies of Voldemort? That's where quick reactions and something unusual might work - like rooting the enemy to the spot. Literally rooting them in the ground. Shock alone might hold them for long enough for their wands to be removed and strong Binding Spells applied. She needed to discuss that with Professor Sprout. And to ask for her memories of teaching Tom Riddle and whether any plants could be used as weapons such as toxic sprays - or more to the point, would Professor Sprout be willing to use them as such? If the Unforgivables were forbidden... Although the use of poisons wasn't, which meant it was all right to kill someone in the most agonising way but forbidden to use Avada Kedavra which, while dramatic, had looked painless. No doubt the rules made sense to someone but there were times when she felt she was never going to make sense of them.

Sighing, Hermione continued down her mental list.

Professor Flitwick: more duelling practice to hone everyone's response times: the Dementors blocked a wizard's ability to use magic - could this effect be duplicated in some way? Not to mention countered. Voldemort was bound to make use of the Dementors. His memories of teaching Tom Riddle.

Madam Pomfrey and Snape needed to discuss what Voldemort's new physical body might mean with regard to his health - and how adversely to affect it.

Snape was the Golden Goose where information on Voldemort was concerned. On the changes - mental and physical in Voldemort since he'd first known him. How dependent was Voldemort on Wormtail? Could he do wandless magic? Did he summon Death Eaters at his whim or as part of some grand strategy? Why attack the parents of some pupils and not others?

Hermione blinked hard, but forced herself to go on. Susan Bones' family hadn't been prominent or powerful. Susan wasn't linked to Harry or Dumbledore. Her grandparents might have been the same generation as Voldemort. Was he paying back some schooltime grudge? If they could work out who any other targets were likely to be they could protect them.

She added more notes to the section under Dumbledore's name, continuing to scribble furiously as more and more things occurred to her.

 

"Ah, Severus, there you are."

"I had noticed, headmaster but thank you for pointing it out to me."

"Have you seen Remus and Sirius?"

"Until recently they were in Serpens Tower. They returned to their quarters a short time ago for a meal and to sleep."

"Don't sound so disapproving. It is almost midnight."

"Ah. No wonder I'm hungry. We've been brewing most of the day. I hadn't appreciated it was that late," Snape admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You never do when you're working. You can eat in my study."

"Oh joy unconfined," murmured Snape, but he gave in with a more or less good grace, even allowing Dumbledore to link their arms without more than a sideways glare.

"Your work with Sirius went well?" asked Dumbledore, as they glided up the moving staircase to his quarters.

"You're being untypically tactful. So far the truce is holding." Snape tensed but tolerated the one-armed hug.

"That's excellent news. I'm so proud of you. And not just for this. Poppy is thrilled at the idea of working with you."

Snape looked surprised. "She told you?"

"She's so excited she's told everyone. When Rakoczi terminated her Pupillage after only three months no other Potions Master would consider taking her on." Dumbledore ruefully stroked his beard. "It never occurred to me before but your talents are wasted on most of our students. Teaching first year Potions must be like - "

"My penance," said Snape, in a tone so dry Dumbledore couldn't be sure if he was joking or not. While the idea seemed in character, it made him uncomfortable. What it did to the first years was quite another matter.

"You never did get that holiday I promised you."

Snape studied the sleeping phoenix where he was balanced on his perch, rocking slightly. "There will be time for fripperies when this is over. If it's ever over," he added tiredly, before he looked surprised, as if the words had escaped of their own volition. "Miss Granger had a point. We are guilty of having fallen into a siege mentality."

"Given the difficulty of knowing who to trust and - "

"It was an observation, not an accusation," said Snape mildly. "I've been too preoccupied with worrying about being turned into Voldemort's lapdog to think around the problem. Didn't you promise me food?"

Dumbledore laughed and summoned a house elf.

 

Pensively licking his dessert spoon, Snape knew the treacle tart had been a mistake; with that much sugar about to hit his system he would be awake for hours yet. But this had been one of the rare times when he had craved sweetness above his usual preference for savoury.

"Would you care for coffee?" asked Dumbledore, flicking pastry from his beard.

"It's a wonder you haven't strangled yourself in your sleep," remarked Snape, fastidiously dodging flying crumbs.

"Anti-tangle charms," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I grew my hair and beard to keep warm. At my age I feel the cold."

"I think Voldemort's starting to. Rather than the meetings being held out in the open, over recent months they've been in shelter, underground. In the dark."

"Unless he's become sensitive to the light," said Dumbledore. "Possibly as a result of his changed appearance. Have a word with Minerva - there isn't much she doesn't know about animagi and the effects on a wizard. While he isn't an animagus some of the principles may still apply. Speak to Poppy about the medical implications."

Snape nodded. "There are other points to consider. Until Miss Granger brought the subject into the open it never occurred to me to wonder but Voldemort must sleep, drink and eat somewhere. Living in Britain would make him too vulnerable to attack - not least from those in his own ranks suffering from vaulting ambition. So, does he go back to Albania? And the periods when all is quiet - are those by his choice or because his strength is still limited? The attacks on Muggles stop during the school holidays. It's as if everything is linked to Hogwarts - or to Harry."

"Or simply the fact Muggles move around so much in the holidays. Keeping track of them would be time-consuming and ultimately without profit. Muggles travel all the time. Often outside the country. Voldemort cannot utilise Muggle means of transport for long journeys but must rely on magic. Flying carriages and ships are cumbersome and time-consuming. The Portkey is unreliable over long distances. I suspects he Disapparates between here and Albania, which would be extremely taxing particularly as, presumably, he takes his lackey, Wormtail, with him. He would be vulnerable then."

Snape nodded. "Charlie Weasley will be looking for work since the Roumanians trumped up that ridiculous charge against him. Obviously I can't be seen to employ him directly but you could. The Weasleys might be dull but they're trustworthy to the roots of their red hair. I imagine there's nothing Charlie would enjoy more than travelling around Albania, ostensibly compiling a study of the dragon population. Tell him he can name his fee, plus expenses - the Weasleys are so depressingly honest it's bound to be derisory."

"Molly Weasley won't be happy about Charlie hunting Voldemort."

"You'll persuade her."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Nice try, Severus."

"You look tired. It might have worked," said Snape philosophically. "I'll survive Molly's wrath - after all these years I should be used to it."

"I must tell Charlie not to take any risks."

"Because that's always been such an effective argument with all the Weasleys - except for Percy."

"I often wondered if that boy was a changeling," said Dumbledore pensively.

"I used to feel sorry for him - apart from all his obvious disadvantages," Snape added, ruining the effect. "It can't have been easy following in the footsteps of the infinitely more charismatic Bill, or Charlie. Isn't Bill acting as a Charm-breaker for Gringotts?"

"I believe so. March always said Bill would surpass him one day."

"I knew Bill was good but... Useful. Have you appointed a Professor for the Study of Ancient Runes yet?"

"You saw the applications, what do you think?" said Dumbledore dryly. "While Bill undoubtedly has the expertise, he can't afford to work at Hogwarts. No one can unless they have private means - or a mysterious benefactor. Which reminds me, Remus told me what you've been doing for him - and Sirius."

"The Galleons come in faster than I know how to get rid of them. If I'd known what I was letting myself in for when I took up your ridiculous idea..."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"You know it did. But if word ever gets out I shall be the laughing stock. The Guild of Potion Masters will probably revoke my license," Snape added with gloom.

"Oh, I don't think there's much danger of that," said Dumbledore comfortably. "You would be prepared to sponsor Bill?"

"We need as many powerful wizards as we can muster. However, working for Gringotts sends him halfway around the world and brings him in contact with all kinds of life. Would he be willing to resign for the dubious pleasure of burying himself in Hogwarts?"

"Of course he will. I shall appeal to his better nature. The chance to teach at his old school - "

"Where two siblings are still pupils. His life will be hell," said Snape, looking more cheerful. "Though I quite envy Bill - Ancient Runes is a fascinating area of study."

"You think so? I confess, I rarely managed to stay awake during class myself. You realise you're in danger of sponsoring the entire Weasley family?"

"No need to rub it in," said Snape, looking pained.

"Console yourself with how unhappy the knowledge would make Ron," suggested Dumbledore brightly, before the twinkle faded from his eyes. "I wish Percy wasn't working for Fudge. Percy isn't his father - more's the pity. Do you believe Voldemort has a strategy?" he added abruptly.

"I wish I did."

"Then how do we prepare for a war when we're not even sure who the enemy are?"

"We won't need to," said Snape acidly, "we have Miss Granger to tell us how we are to proceed."

"Severus..."

"I know, I know. It's just..." Snape shrugged. "I concede that she's already succeeded in getting us to think beyond maintaining the status quo. We're all tired, stale. We need new blood. The problem is, who to trust?"

"After the number of times I have been taken in I'm beginning to doubt my own judgement," Dumbledore admitted.

Snape offered no comforting placebo. "The Weasleys are one of the few allies we can be certain of," he said after a moment. "As such, they're an obvious target for Voldemort. I'm surprised he hasn't moved against them already. We should pre-empt him, take steps to protect them."

"The Aurors - "

"I wouldn't trust those bloody-thirsty bastards further than I could hurl Hagrid. While Molly Weasley is a powerful witch, she is only one woman. Far too easy a target at the Burrow."

"Go on," said Dumbledore.

"I wondered about bringing her here. Appoint her Assistant Matron. There can't be much she doesn't know about children and after Charlie, Fred and George her first aid skills must be second to none. We've been saying we should offer some kind of formal sex education class for years. Molly would have just the right kind of manner. She could also be trained to assist Poppy. If Hogwarts is attacked Poppy will need skilled help that we don't currently possess."

"It sounds splendid," said Dumbledore, looking impressed. "I wish I'd thought of it myself, though I expect I will in a day or two. But a couple of problems occur to me. Arthur may object to his wife living at Hogwarts."

"Not if he's living here with her. He can Disapparate to the Ministry from just outside the gates. I'm sure March won't object to them setting up home in Ravenclaw tower. He hasn't used it in decades."

"You think Molly will be willing to leave her home?" Dumbledore looked doubtful.

"Before or after I've explained the possible alternatives?" inquired Snape. "With frequent references to the fate of Miss Granger's parents."

"Ah," said Dumbledore pensively. "Perhaps I'd better speak with Arthur and Molly. You, on the other hand, can explain the proposal to Poppy. I'm sure she'll be delighted to learn that you don't believe she's up to the job and requires an assistant. More coffee?"

***

 

"Has anyone seen Hermione since breakfast yesterday?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"She's probably feeling embarrassed and is keeping out of our way," said Madam Hooch, sounding unconcerned.

"Even she hasn't stooped as low as Severus and suggested I'm not up to my job," said Madam Pomfrey tartly, glaring at Snape.

Unperturbed, he toasted her with his cup of tea. "Wouldn't you rather talk about me behind my back?"

"Where would be the satisfaction in that? What do you think Hermione has to feel embarrassed about, Freyja?"

"We're all feeling a little defensive right now," cut in Lupin peaceably. "I know I've spent more time considering my own problems than how to defeat Voldemort. We need to concentrate on the larger picture."

"That's all right, Hermione left me with homework," said Professor McGonagall acidly. "At least that's the interpretation I put on the parchment I received from her. She'll have us running around like headless chickens."

"Something of an exaggeration, surely," said Snape, ignoring bacon and eggs in favour of more tea.

"What, she isn't demanding to know all your dark secrets?" returned Professor McGonagall.

Tea slopped over Snape's wrist.

"Minerva," protested Dumbledore as he arrived in time to hear that.

"Thank you, headmaster, but I believe I'm more than capable of dealing with impertinent questions - from anyone," drawled Snape.

"I'm sure you are," said Professor Sprout. "Besides, I believe I know why Minerva is a little out of sorts," she added blandly.

"Ceres!" protested Professor McGonagall. "I told you that in strictest confidence."

Professor Sprout patted her on the arm. "I'm sure you meant to, dear. Anyway, it's far too good a story not to share. Apparently one of Miss Granger's questions to Minerva was what was the point of Transfiguration, as while turning a teapot into a dormouse and back again was fun, it wasn't of much use to anyone."

Caught mid-sip of tea, Snape nearly choked.

Professor Flitwick wasn't so lucky and it took a minute or so to calm him, hiccoughing chortles escaping him at the most inappropriate moments.

"Well I'm glad you think it's funny," said Professor McGonagall tightly, a spot of colour on each cheek. "I've never been so... And by one of my own students."

"Yes," said Snape dreamily. "She's a true Gryffindor. Her foot down her mouth with every other sentence and all the social graces of a rutting Hippogriff."

"Severus," muttered Lupin urgently.

Snape looked up in time to see Hermione's stricken expression before she backed out of the Great Hall.

"Oh dear," murmured Professor Sprout. "I suppose you wouldn't care to - ?"

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"No, I suppose that was overly optimistic of me," sighed Professor Sprout.

Dumbledore glanced around the table, sighed and got up.

"Albus?" queried Madam Hooch. "You haven't eaten."

"Nor has Miss Granger," he pointed out before he left the room.

"One of us should have gone after her," murmured Professor Sprout, looking troubled.

"Don't look at me," snapped Professor McGonagall. "It's time she learnt to think before she spoke." Too cross to be concentrating on what she was doing, she set a spoonful of marmalade on top of her fried egg.

Most people pretended not to notice.

Professor McGonagall glared across the width of the table. "Severus, I swear if you don't wipe that smirk off your face I'll turn you into a toad. And you know I can do it."

"Good morning, everyone," said Dumbledore, coming into the Great Hall with his hand tucked in the crook of Hermione's arm. "Look who I found in the corridor."

"What an unexpected treat," said Snape, getting to his feet.

"Oh, don't go, Severus. I'd like a word with everyone. Besides, you don't appear to have eaten yet." Dumbledore held out a chair for Hermione, between Snape and himself, and beamed around the table before tucking into the bowl of porridge which appeared in front of him.

 

Acutely aware of the man reluctantly sitting to the right of her, drinking his appalling tea, Hermione found it difficult to swallow. Pushing melon and strawberries around the dish, she eventually abandoned the pretence of eating. The smell of the coffee made her feel sick. She began to relax a little only when she realised she was being tactfully ignored by everyone - or snubbed again. When she eventually looked up it was to find Madam Hooch studying her with the dispassionate interest of a vivisectionist studying a new specimen.

"You're untypically quiet this morning, Miss Granger. The problem not quite as easy to solve as you assumed the other day?" she asked in her usual forthright manner.

Hermione sat a little straighter in her chair. "I apologise if I gave you the impression I believed I could solve anything by myself. I understand that none of you wish to turn into the aggressors but if we are to survive Voldemort we need to have more than one plan of campaign. We need to know as much about him and the workings of his mind as possible."

"You'll be having a few cosy chats with Severus then," said Black with lazy malice.

"If he will agree, yes," said Hermione hardily, although she could not bring herself to glance in his direction. "Just as I hope to talk to you about Azkaban and the Dementors."

Black flinched and fell silent.

"Sirius?" said Dumbledore sternly. "We are all having to return to uncongenial memories. I might remind all of you that this task we have asked Miss Granger to perform is giving her no pleasure. I've seen the full extent of her inquiries. It's my belief that once we have answered them to the best of our ability the information should be pooled and discussed. There are some fine minds around this table."

"Yes, headmaster," muttered Black, looking subdued.

"Excellent. Remus?"

"I'm at your disposal, Miss Granger," he said, smiling at her.

"Thank you," she said with gratitude, almost overwhelmed to see one friendly face.

"Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

Snape parted the hands which had been linked across his flat stomach. "Nothing I enjoy more than reminiscing about the good old days, Headmaster. Particularly with a pupil."

"That would be a 'yes', then?" said Dumbledore.

Unable to stop herself, Hermione turned her head but Snape made no attempt to glance her way, merely parting his hands and nodding.

"You've raised some interesting points, dear," said Professor Sprout. "I'll get to work after breakfast."

"And I should be delighted to work with everyone again," squeaked Flitwick. "Sirius, you were a fine dueller, as I recall. As was Severus. And Freyja. Yes, I shall have a splendid time."

"Headmaster," said Hermione quietly, "Could you arrange for me to meet Alastor Moody."

"Under no circumstances," snapped Snape, who had obviously been eavesdropping. "He's a dangerous man."

"Severus is quite correct," said Dumbledore. "His time trapped in Crouch's trunk has - understandably - made Alastor very jumpy, which in itself wouldn't be so bad but for the fact that he increasingly sees life in simple terms. Those who think like him are right, the rest of the world is wrong. If he saw your questions as a threat... I'm not prepared to take that risk where you're concerned. Aurors have always had a tendency towards the definite but recently I've begun to think their methods are too reminiscent of Voldemort's. Something which I regard as too high a price for victory. Adopt the methods of the enemy and you become no better than them."

"Lose the battle and it all becomes irrelevant, " returned Hermione, flinching when she heard Professor McGonagall's disapproving sniff.

Dumbledore's expression did not change. "Then we have an impassé. But you will give me your word that you will not speak with, or attempt to communicate with, Alastor Moody. Now, if you please."

She nodded at once. "You have it, of course." Disapproval bearing down on her from all sides, suddenly she could take no more and she murmured her excuses and hurried out of the Great Hall.

"Now that is inconvenient," murmured Dumbledore. "I had hoped to get everyone's agreement to gaining us all a little more time before the start of the new term." He outlined his plan and after a short discussion it was unanimously agreed.

"That's settled then," said Professor McGonagall briefly.

"Hardly," said Professor Sprout. "There are the house elves - and Miss Granger - to consult."

"I'll speak to the house elves," said Dumbledore. "Minerva? You are her Head of House."

Snape gave a derisive snort.

"And what, pray, do you mean by that?" demanded Professor McGonagall.

Tuning out the ensuing 'discussion', Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea and asked Madam Hooch about her trip to Norway.

 

Having been discussing theories with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, Snape spent several hours in the library following various lines of research. Sitting back to flex his locked shoulders he became aware that the silence was being disturbed by faint sounds of hitching breath, as if someone some distance away was crying. There was only one person it was likely to be - unless Moaning Myrtle had found a way out of the toilets - and she wasn't his responsibility. Collecting up a couple of volumes, he was on the point of leaving when he found Madam Pomfrey glaring at him from the end of the aisle.

"You're going to leave that poor girl crying her heart out?" she hissed.

He looked down his nose at her. "I don't know - "

"Credit me with some sense. Of course you do. Hardly to be wondered at given the pressure we've put her under. Have you sat there all this time ignoring her?"

"I didn't even know she was here until a minute ago," he protested indignantly. "Some of us concentrate when we work."

"And that righteous tone always works so well with me. What are you going to do about her?"

"I'm at a loss as to why you should imagine it's anything to do with me. May I remind you yet again, she is not my responsibility."

"The child looks as if she hasn't slept for some time. She's in danger of working herself into a state of nervous exhaustion. I doubt if she's eaten and there's a desperation about her that... She keeps muttering something about it all being over when she meets Albus at ten o'clock this evening."

"All what being over?" said Snape irritably.

"She didn't say. But as there isn't that long to go, no doubt we'll find out in due course. Minerva and I have attempted to talk to her but she's obviously not accustomed to unburdening herself to a woman. You're someone she's begun to think of as a friend."

"Don't be absurd," said Snape in instant denial of responsibility. "She's a pupil."

"Over the years there have been a number of pupils I'm proud to regard as my friends."

"Yes, well, you always were rather sentimental."

"Thank you, Severus. Always such a way with a compliment. So you find her dull-witted, unintelligent and a bore?"

"Don't belabour the point, you've won the war."

"Hermione is desperately unhappy about something and I suspect it's to do with you. I know she can be irritating but she has a good heart. She's been a staunch friend to Harry and Ron, often at great personal risk. Also, she's still coming to terms with the trauma of losing her parents in such an appalling fashion. I know that once term starts communication between you, other than in class, will be virtually impossible, but until then if you could see your way to help her..." Madam Pomfrey parted her hands. "Severus, she's crying her heart out back there."

"I've no patience with weeping females."

"You seem to cope well enough with your Slytherin girls."

"They rarely grizzle."

"I haven't noticed that they're much different from the girls in any other house." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "But if you won't, you won't. She'll just have to cry herself to a standstill." Without waiting for him to reply she headed out of the library.

Snape muttered irritably under his breath, his scowl black enough to send a couple of volumes sliding as far back on the shelf as they could get when he stalked passed.

Hermione had taken refuge in one of the rarely used corners of the library - there had never been a great demand for books about Inner Awareness. Such navel-gazing was regarded as the preserve of Muggles, who didn't have anything better to do with their time. Although as Snape recalled Vanda Hemlock's 'Know Yourself Inside Out' had a literal application for anyone stupid enough to still be reading it by chapter nine.

While he dealt ruthlessly with any pupil, whatever their gender, misguided enough to believe that tears could be used to soften him, he could also recognise the genuine article when he saw it. Her face buried in hands which glistened with mucus and tears, Hermione's entire body shuddered as choked noises escaped her. It was some time before she realised she wasn't alone, her look of appalled humiliation telling Snape all he needed to know. She gasped something which a moment's reflection suggested might be an apology for disturbing him.

"I should think so too," he said briskly, pulling out a wooden chair. Sitting beside her, he produced one of the clean handkerchiefs which years as Head of House had taught him to keep about his person. "Blow your nose, Miss Granger."

She gave him a look of watery dislike but did as she was told.

"Now dry your face." He placed another handkerchief in her hand. "That manuscript has survived six hundred years and deserves better than to become water-marked now. The salts from your body..."

"Take the bloody thing and go away," she said in a choked voice, swinging away from him on her chair.

"You're tired, hungry and irrational. You also seem to be in an appallingly bad mood."

"That's rich, coming from you. I'm not obliged to be good company. For you or anyone else. Go away. I don't want you here."

"If only we got what we wanted from life. Enough histrionics. If you wish to be regarded as adult enough to fight Voldemort, kindly start acting like one."

"I... You have no right to..." She paused, only then seeming to become aware of her physical state. She made a wholly feminine gesture before her hand fell away from her hair. There was a pause while she blew her nose and attended to a few repairs.

Snape noted the confident wand use, a murmured "Accio" enough to summon what she wanted. Some witches twice her age lacked that kind of focus. He made a mental note to ask March to set her duelling with someone willing to test her to her limits and beyond. Freyja would be perfect. Particularly as they seemed to have taken an instant dislike to one another.

Hermione was wearing her hair up again, although most of it seemed intent on escaping in little tendrils down her neck. A wave of tenderness swept over him; contemptuous of such maudlin - and inappropriate - feelings, his voice was harsher than he knew as he battled to ignore the lure of her beguiling scent.

"Poppy mentioned you have an appointment with Albus at ten o'clock. You may care to know it's almost ten minutes to the hour."

"What? I must go," she cried, jumping up from her chair. "And I haven't even begun to - Not that it matters."

Busy trying to place the expression he had glimpsed in her pink-rimmed eyes, Snape made no attempt to acknowledge her leaving, or five minutes later to justify his decision to go and see the headmaster.

 

"Ah, Severus, I thought you might want to be here," said Dumbledore as Snape entered his study after a cursory knock on the door.

Snape looked wary. "Indeed?"

"For when I Obliviate Miss Granger," prompted Dumbledore.

From the corner of his eye Snape saw her flinch. She looked - terrified. "Why would you want to do that?"

"I assumed you're here to see her keep the promise she made to you," said Dumbledore.

"I don't know why," said Snape disagreeably. "You know my views on the unnecessary use of Memory Charms. However, this is nothing to do with me. The choice is Miss Granger's. If there is nothing further?"

"You came to me," Dumbledore pointed out mildly.

"I was mistaken," said Snape, giving him a cold look. His life would be a simpler affair if only Albus would stop trying to manage him. Heading for the door he made the elementary mistake of glancing at Hermione again and was stirred to an unwilling pity.

"Is this really what you want to do?" he asked, going over to her.

Because he was standing so close Hermione had to crane her neck to look up at him. "I'm sorry?"

Snape propped himself against the arm of the chair beside hers. "I concede the memories of what I told you are ugly ones but I find it difficult to believe they merit an Obliviate."

"You think I would choose to have my mind wiped! That is... I promised you that if you would trust me I would...."

"I remember. It didn't occur to me you were serious. Or that the headmaster would contemplate using the Obliviate. Which of course he wouldn't," Snape added, belatedly realising how neatly he had been duped. He gave Dumbledore a glare of exasperation. "It didn't occur to you that you could have simply asked me? Stop shaking Miss Granger, there will be no application of a Memory Charm, tonight or any other night."

"My dear, why are you so afraid of this?" asked Dumbledore

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Because it's memory rape. How could I - anyone - ever be certain what was a real memory and which false?" Despite herself, her voice shook. "It's like having a piece of your mind chopped away, wondering all the time how much will be left to you. What you'll be capable of afterwards, whether you're going..." She stuffed her fist to her mouth.

"Miss Granger! Hermione." Warm hands collected her cold, cramped ones as Snape crouched beside her, his intent face compelling belief. "No one is going to Obliviate you. I give you my word. As for those ridiculous assertions about the affect the Obliviate has on the mind... Quite how you've managed to forget everything you must have been taught on the subject is beyond me."

"I owe you an apology, child," said Dumbledore quietly. "I have used the Obliviate on you before. Twice, to be precise."

She stared at him, aghast. "How could you?"

Snape swivelled around to stare up at Dumbledore in exasperation. "Albus," he sighed. "Your sense of timing is appalling."

Hermione held on to his hands as to a lifeline.

"If she feels so strongly about it she deserves to know," Dumbledore said.

Hermione's stomach lurched, blood buzzing in her ears, her skin clammy with sweat as she realised she couldn't even be certain of her own thoughts. A firm hand pushed her head between her knees and held it there.

"Just breathe. You're not going to faint," said Snape prosaically. "You're quite safe, just suffering from shock."

In under a minute she stirred under the light touch at her neck.

"Sit up slowly. Drink this." The glass of water Snape handed her had a slight purple tinge. "Don't try and analyse it yet. I'm hardly likely to poison you in front of the headmaster."

"Sorry, I over-reacted," she muttered, once she had drunk the potion. It tasted faintly of elderberries. Without being aware of it, her hand sought and found Snape's again and as his long fingers curled around hers she began to relax.

"My dear child," said Dumbledore, sitting on a chair a few feet away. "The last thing I intended was to cause you distress."

"I don't understand why you did that to me," said Hermione, looking frightened. "I haven't done anything wrong. Or have I? I don't remember."

"No, of course you haven't," Dumbledore said, offering immediate reassurance. He glanced over her head to find Snape watching him.

"Tell her, Albus," he said quietly. "Tell her everything."

After a moment, Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I think that would be for the best. Very well. My dear, the first time I had occasion to use to Obliviate you was at the end of your fourth year. Severus had revealed his Dark Mark - and thus the fact he had been a Death Eater - to Cornelius Fudge. There were a number of other people present, including Rita Skeeter in her animagus form - she'd been eavesdropping."

"She was a beetle. I captured her in a bottle and let her loose in London after showing her to Harry and Ron," remembered Hermione, concentrating. "She was on the window of the hospital wing, listening to us. Oh. Listening to you," she added, turning to Snape, her sense of panic receding.

He nodded.

"While Severus spoke from the best of motives - and at no little personal cost - a moment's reflection made it obvious Fudge couldn't be trusted with the knowledge. So I Obliviated him," continued Dumbledore. "Also Ron and yourself - and Rita, of course. Molly and Bill Weasley already knew the truth about Severus. I took no action with Harry because - "

"Of who he is," said Hermione without resentment. "You could have trusted Ron and me. Although you couldn't have known that." Snape's thumb was describing a circle on the inside of her wrist.

"It wasn't that I didn't trust the pair of you," said Dumbledore. "But I know how friends like to talk and I was concerned that you might be overheard."

"I can't believe you told Fudge and Rita Skeeter," Hermione said to Snape, her disapproval plain.

Dumbledore was careful to smile where it wouldn't show.

Snape glared at her, then shrugged, his expression wry. "I spoke in the heat of the moment."

"Because that's so unusual," retorted Hermione with more spirit.

Relieved to see her colour returning to normal as she became less tense, Snape let that piece of impudence pass.

"And you Obliviated the Minister of Magic," she added to Dumbledore. "Should you be telling me this?"

"If I can trust you with Severus' safety, I can certainly trust you with mine," pointed out Dumbledore.

"Oh," said Hermione weakly as it finally sank home just how much trust everyone had placed in her. "I won't let you down," she added, looking from Dumbledore to Snape, the anxiety fading from her eyes when she recognised that the assurance had been unnecessary.

"Drink your tea," said Snape prosaically, abandoning hope of getting his hand back in the near future. "So when was the second time you Obliviated Miss Granger?" he asked, looking up to where Dumbledore sat.

"Ah, that was several weeks ago, in very different circumstances. It was intended to protect Miss Granger from a memory which still haunts those of us who were present."

Snape frowned. "I don't remember any incident."

"You wouldn't. You had just returned from Voldemort. Nothing Poppy could do eased your agony. You nearly died that night. Miss Granger was sleeping in the hospital wing. Suddenly we looked around and she was there, looking as if she believed we had been torturing you. Which given what I had sent you to isn't far from the truth. I used the Obliviate to spare her the memory of your pain. I had never thought of it as 'memory rape' before. Nor had it occurred to me that it was something to be feared."

"That's because you're Albus Dumbledore. The likelihood of it happening to you is remote," Snape pointed out.

"I've always loathed the idea of Memory Charms - of having anyone interfere with my mind. But I thought I was going mad," Hermione whispered. "For weeks I've been having nightmares about faceless men and screaming. There's this terrible screaming and I can't get to whoever's making the noise. Then something's stealing my mind, biting it away, bit by bit."

"I've never heard of anyone having such a reaction to the Obliviate before," Snape said blankly, looking beyond her to where Dumbledore sat.

"Nor I," murmured Dumbledore. "Oh, my dear."

Little by little Hermione eased her death-grip of Snape's hand. "I thought I was going mad," she whispered. "Or that Voldemort was attacking me. I was terrified I was being turned into his creature."

"There's no chance of that," said Snape from beside her, inconspicuously trying to return the blood-flow to his numbed fingers. "Take it from one who knows. You'd be far more likely to lecture him on his poor organisational skills and the inefficiency of his methods.

"'There spoke up a brisk little somebody,

Critic and whippersnapper, in a rage

To set things right.'"

As he had intended, that distracted her and she gave a moist-sounding chuckle.

"I am not that bossy." She rubbed her temples, then jumped when Fawkes landed on her shoulder with a flash of gold and a puff of shimmering feathers. She had never realised how beautiful his eyes were. Sustaining his unblinking gaze as best she could, she felt as if Fawkes saw clear to the heart of her; she could only hope he didn't find her wanting.

"Hagrid must have told you about the phoenix," said Snape.

"Gentle, faithful, doesn't kill, beautiful song, healing tears," she said flatly, resenting being made to feel as if she was the guilty party for resenting the assault on her mind.

"As prosaic a recital as it's been my misfortune to hear," said Snape.

"Sorry about that," said Hermione acidly. "I have other things on my mind. If not as many as I used to." She gave Dumbledore an unforgiving glare, then wished she hadn't when she saw the pain in his eyes. With no surprise she watched Fawkes fly to the older man, then looked self-conscious when she realised Snape was still studying her with a disconcerting degree of thoroughness.

"I don't believe your nightmares have anything to do with Memory Charms," he said at last. "Between the murder of your parents and your fear that someone you know may become a Death Eater you've been under considerable stress. You won't be the first intelligent person to wonder if they're losing their mind while suffering from anxiety."

"Thanks for the sympathy."

"With the amount of self-pity you're wallowing in you hardly need any more."

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't, Miss Granger. Get used to it."

Staring fixedly at the top of Dumbledore's desk, Hermione traced an abstract pattern with her index finger. "Are you trying to make me feel small-minded and petty?" she mumbled.

"No," said Snape, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that he was smiling. "That's just that inconvenient Gryffindor appendage called a conscience."

Finally daring to look up and meeting the warmth in his eyes, it belatedly dawned on Hermione that he had forgiven her and if he could take that leap of faith...

"Memory Charms have always been a bit of a... They must be my Achilles Heel," she said, hoping no one else could hear her stomach rumbling. "I understand completely about the headmaster using one after you told Fudge about the Dark Mark. As for the other... If one of the first years had been in the situation in which you found me, I would have been tempted to do the same thing you did," she added in a rush, finally managing to meet Dumbledore's eyes again.

When he smiled she felt as if she was swimming in blue. "Thank you, my dear. Now, how about a bite to eat?"

Hermione found herself sharing a late night meal in the headmaster's study, belatedly appreciating just how hungry she was. She couldn't help noticing that Dumbledore did little beyond move some food around his plate.

"We all - including Professor Snape - must seem like first years to you. I can't imagine him as a first year..." She meet Snape's glare with a faint but unrepentant grin. "This is your fault. There must have been a Cheering Charm in that potion you gave me."

"A small one," he allowed. "I think it has more to do with the amount of sugar you've consumed."

"Is that a subtle way of asking if I want that last macaroon?"

"I should have known subtlety would be wasted on a Gryffindor. Yes."

"You can have half," she said generously, offering him the plate.

Disposing of his share, Snape fished in his jacket pocket and handed Hermione a parchment. "I prepared this for you. A list of all the Death Eaters I'm aware of, together with their scents."

Taken aback, Hermione stared at him. "I don't understand," she said blankly.

"Professor Snape has an acute sense of smell," explained Dumbledore. "He says that everyone has their own unique scent."

"Really? That's fascinating. No wonder you're such a good Potions master. What does Voldemort smell of?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing," said Snape flatly. "Nothing at all."

"Whereas I, apparently, smell of lemon drops and sunshine," said Dumbledore placidly.

Hermione stared at him. "To whom?"

"Me," said Snape.

"Can you read minds?" Hermione demanded.

"Of course I can't. Why?" Snape added, intrigued despite himself.

"Because that's what the headmaster smells like to me."

Snape studied her with interest. "Really? Fascinating. You're not bad at Potions, of course, but you're not exceptional either."

"Thank you," said Hermione sarcastically. "It's a constant source of comfort how many ways you find to tell me I'm not a good witch."

The line between his dark eyebrows becoming more pronounced, Snape frowned at her. "When did I ever say that?"

"When you told me I would never be great."

"Like Voldemort, or Albus, you mean?"

"Oh. I thought you meant..."

"The curse of the over-achiever strikes again. Average isn't a pejorative, Miss Granger. Besides, your skills are above average."

Her face lit up and Snape sighed

Wearing a benign smile by this time Dumbledore drew their attention to fresh supplies of food. In the tones of one conferring a great favour Snape ate some buttered toast. Becoming aware that Hermione was still staring at him, he wondered if he had a smut on his face.

"What?" he demanded eventually, making her jump.

"Did I say something? Sorry. I must have been thinking aloud. Do all the pupils have their own scent - as far as you're concerned?"

"Yes," said Snape, looking unenthusiastic. "Leaving aside the obvious hell of twenty hormone-laden fourteen year olds infesting my classroom."

"Has Professor Lupin got an equally good sense of smell? Oh, Mr Black and Professor McGonagall too?"

"You want me to approach Minerva and ask...?"

"The headmaster could do it," said Hermione, enthusiasm bubbling from her.

Dumbledore gave her look of reproach, which only deepened when Snape absently ate the last piece of toast.

"And the point of all this is?" asked Snape, licking his buttery fingers.

"The chance to identify pupils the moment they become Death Eaters. You'd be able to recognise them at a meeting by their scent."

"Presuming I'm close enough," Snape pointed out.

Her face fell. "Bother. Um, could I ask you a personal question."

Dumbledore stopped twirling a wisp of beard around his index finger.

"You may ask," said Snape, doors visibly closing.

"There is a good reason," she assured him quickly. "I was wondering if a person's smell changes when they become a Death Eater - and I know we can't test that until it's too late. So it occurred to me..." Hermione took an audible breath. "Your Dark Mark. Does it smell different from the skin of your arm?"

Dumbledore tried to remember the last time anyone had deprived Snape of the breath for speech, just before he tried to predict what the other man's reaction would be.

"I know it sounds impertinent and stupid but it occurred to me that if there is a difference then you would be able to smell the difference in pupils and - "

"You're burbling, Miss Granger."

"I know. Sorry."

It was only when she touched his shoulder that Snape realised she had moved to stand beside him at some point in the conversation. It always surprised him that such a strong spirit was housed in such a slight body. "I can't help you," he said shortly. "Not for the obvious reason of bloody-mindedness. Just that I have no idea what I smell like."

Dumbledore shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't help you. I don't have a particularly good sense of smell."

"Oh, you have a scent," Hermione assured Snape. "Well, at least I think it's you and not your clothing."

Looking wary, Snape just managed to stop himself from asking what it might be. She was going to make him ask Remus or Black to sniff him - or worse, Minerva. And what's more, he would probably let it happen. He gave Dumbledore a brooding look. It seemed there was no limit to the humiliations being heaped on him.

He discovered his mistake when Hermione bent to sniff his neck.


	15. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

 

At her first delicate inhalation Snape let his eyes fall shut, willing himself not to react to the stimuli assaulting his senses: the heady scent of her; the warmth of her body; the hand resting on his shoulder; and the tendril of hair tickling his cheek. She snuffled along the nape of his neck, raising his plait as she did so and a crop of goosebumps shivered down his body, tightening belly and balls in quick succession.

As he felt her move he reopened his eyes; more of her body was back in his line of vision. She was wearing a well-cut, close-fitting dress of pale apricot; the fabric looked as if it would be soft to the touch and clung lovingly to her rib cage, jut of hipbone and the faint curve of her belly. It would be so deliciously easy to settle his hand in the small of her back, to slide his palm down the delicious curve of her bottom while he teased the curl of her navel with his -

"Miss Granger!" he snapped, furious with himself.

Hermione jumped, looked self-conscious, then scowled and stepped away from him, her arms defensively folded to hide nipples which seemed determined to form a mountain range of their own. Her eyes were all velvety pupil but Snape refused to deal with the implications of that and her heightened scent.

Disconcerted by her overwhelming physical reaction to such simple contact Hermione tried to compose herself by drinking her long-cold tea. It was the first time in her life she'd ever had such a strong reaction just to... Not that she'd ever gone round sniffing people - men - before. Damn him, she was slick and slippery and shaking with desire. Hormones had a lot to answer for, she thought bitterly, resenting her over-responsive body and the aching need that wasn't going to be filled, leaving her feeling as hollow as a vibrating drum. Her hand was still unsteady as she poured herself some more tea.

"Miss Granger, surely you've had a chance to decide what I..." Trailing into silence, Snape completed the sentence with an irritable gesture, half-afraid of what she might say because he could trust her to tell the truth. He knew - thought - he couldn't smell that terrible or Phryne would never have... On the other hand... He discovered he was grinding his teeth with impatience.

Because he was looking far too smug, and because she couldn't trust herself not to succumb to the longing to taste the skin she had been inhaling, Hermione dredged her back brain for some means of shaking his irritating certainty.

"Your personal scent? Of course," she said blandly. "'Slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails,'."

Taken aback, Snape blinked. "I beg your pardon?" He looked faintly, gratifyingly appalled.

"It's a Muggle nursery rhyme," explained Hermione. "Girls smell of 'Sugar and spice and all that's nice,'."

"Wishful thinking costs nothing," said Snape disagreeably.

Hermione grinned. "Nauseating, isn't it. Whoever wrote it had obviously never been stuck in a confined space with Quidditch players after a match. I'm sure there must be more insulting rhymes but I'd need to raid your library to find them. I've never seen so many poetry books in one place. All Muggle," she added.

"No one in their right minds could stomach wizard verse. Though I doubt if you've had a chance to come across much as yet."

"Only at the House of Mirth. A Pilgrim of Love wrote a sonnet to my - It doesn't matter what. It was very...florid."

Snape snorted. "I can imagine." Despite himself his gaze flicked to her breasts, then resolutely back to her face.

Hermione looked rueful. "I think I ruined the moment when I started to laugh. I hadn't realised he was serious."

Snape's lips twitched. "He has my sympathies."

"Yes, but you'd have had the sense not to lie there spouting really bad poetry, wouldn't you."

"Ah, much as I'm enjoying this literary debate," began Dumbledore delicately, his eyes twinkling when they both jumped, obviously having forgotten his presence. Snape scowled, while Hermione looked self-conscious, then gave him a warm smile.

"Sorry. We seem to have got sidetracked. It's my fault, I know. I think it must be relief. At not being mad after all. I keep wanting to talk."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "In my experience you never want to stop."

"I enjoy learning. And if you don't ask you don't learn. I know it irritates you."

"Which, no doubt, explains why you've perfected your technique over the years," he said, but there was no bite in his voice. He had been guilty of yet another teaching misjudgement with her, assuming her enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to impress and show-off when that had only played a tiny part, even in her first term. "'The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be lighted.'"

Arrested, Hermione stared at him, absorbing what she was sure was a quotation. "You really do like teaching, don't you? I wondered because our discussions in the library were so different from your Potions... That is - um..." To her relief, even Snape looked amused.

"You may - I stress may - begin to notice a small improvement in my patience this academic year. The more gifted students amongst you will be invited to sit a Salamander Level, which affords the option of taking up a Pupillage or apprenticeship in a chosen field when you leave Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "I'd forgotten about that. How many are we allowed to take?"

"Just one. The workload is considerable - and you'll all be sitting your N.E.W.T.s"

"Just one? But how to choose?"

Dumbledore gave a gentle cough. "It has been our experience that the subject often selects the wizard - or witch, although often not until the last moment."

"It should also be added that in the majority of cases it's enough of a struggle getting enough information into pupils to get them through their N.E.W.T.s," said Snape. "Unless, of course, you find yourself being drawn to Divination at the last moment."

"That's not funny," she told him severely. "If Fate has a sense of humour anything like the headmaster's that could happen."

"No, I assure you," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Before you lose yourself to visions of what subject to grace with your genius," said Snape unpleasantly, "may I add something. In view of your recent anxiety about your mental stability, next time you are concerned about something that serious perhaps you'll have the common sense to speak with Minerva. Or Albus."

Hermione looked self-conscious. "I didn't like to bother them."

"Then why not approach Poppy? She is your guardian."

"I thought that was just a matter of form."

Snape studied her with interest. "I can only marvel at the thought processes which assumes that a wizarding contract so powerful that Voldemort himself can't break it is just a matter of form. You really should talk to Poppy."

"I think she's been a little...hurt that you haven't done so," added Dumbledore. "While, of necessity, you are all expected to mature earlier than might be usual amongst Muggle children, you are not expected to bear burdens beyond your strength alone. Something you might care to remind Harry about. Now, as Fawkes and I would like to get to bed some time before dawn, perhaps you could put me out of my misery. Does Severus really smell of slugs and snails?"

"Fortunately not. He uses the same hair conditioner as me," Hermione added absently.

"A bonding experience I'm sure," drawled Snape, trying not to wonder what colour her nipples might be.

"Your clothing is rinsed in rosemary-scented water."

"Yes?"

"But you smell of that sharp, green scent of rain-wet cypress. And man, of course. Clean, healthy man." And so inviting she'd been hard-pressed not to suck and nip the tender white skin behind one neat-set ear. His skin wasn't olive at all - when he had removed the Appearance Detracting Charm he'd had the beginnings of a tan, which had deepened in the weeks since.

"Indeed? How dull. I was hoping for something exotic," said Dumbledore when Snape just sat studying his hands, as if he had feared.... Who knew what Severus had expected? Unless he was simply bracing himself for the most difficult moment of all? "Severus, if you would be kind enough to roll up your shirt sleeve so Miss Granger can check the site of the Dark Mark."

His expression bleak, Snape looked up.

"I've never done this before," blurted out Hermione, nervous at the thought of such an intimacy in front of Dumbledore's all-seeing gaze. "I've never even thought of myself as having a particularly good sense of smell."

"So when you assist Longbottom you can't tell when that dunderhead has compromised yet another potion?" said Snape abruptly.

"Well, yes. Usually. But it isn't a conscious thing."

"Then it's time it was. You should work with Sirius - or Remus - to hone the ability."

"But you - "

"Have better things to do with my time," said Snape crushingly. "Remus' sense of smell is the most acute I've ever encountered," he added a heartbeat later. "Perhaps he would be the more appropriate person to test the Dark Mark." Offering up his arm to her was an intimacy he could do without. It was a wonder she hadn't already detected the hormonal changes indicating his arousal. "And given that I already feel as if I've sold tickets..."

Taking that for tacit agreement, Dumbledore went to the fireplace.

 

When Lupin arrived, it was obvious from his dishevelled appearance that he had been asleep - or otherwise engaged. From Black's irritable expression and air of frustration Hermione was prepared to take an educated guess which. So, she gathered, from the almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, was Severus. She was careful not to concentrate too deeply on their scent. It belatedly occurred to her that she could do with some help if she wasn't to lose herself to the myriad scents of communal life with so many people just before she wondered if that was what Snape had had in mind.

Once he understood what was being proposed Black opened his mouth, found Lupin, Dumbledore and Hermione all glaring at him and held his tongue. He was almost glad of the fact when he took in the defensive posture Snape had adopted where he stood by the window, wearing an expression that would have soured milk at three paces.

When Lupin took a light but firm hold of his bared arm at the elbow and wrist, Snape stared fixedly out into the night, as if trying to disassociate himself from what was happening.

"I believe I already have your scent fixed, but it's as well to check," said Lupin, before he began to check Snape's arm. "Shame, humiliation, anger, regret, resentment, lust, ar - " Belatedly appreciating what he was saying, he stopped.

"Thank you, Remus. Be sure to strip me of every privacy," said Snape, his voice barely carrying to where Hermione stood. He sounded quietly and completely furious.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking," Lupin murmured. "It's just that strong emotions and hormonal... They always register first. Stay still, I'll just be a moment more."

True to his word, he straightened, releasing his hold of Snape's arm. "I'd know you anywhere. More to the point, I could track you."

"Oh joy." His back achingly straight, Snape was still avoiding everyone's eyes, although he could feel their stares stabbing him.

"I just have to check the Dark Mark," added Lupin quietly.

"Can you offer a description of Severus' scent we can relate to - say like lemons, or marmalade?" asked Dumbledore.

Hermione was too busy giving Snape a glare of pure resentment to pay much attention. Typical man, with his mind constantly on sex. The list of his partners was obviously a lengthy one - although she couldn't fault his taste in lovers. She'd always liked Professor Lupin. But what Mr Black was going to think of this development she didn't want to contemplate. She was surprised to see him quietly drinking tea while absently rubbing the back of Fawkes' head rather than plotting ways of murdering Snape for lusting after his lover.

"I'm afraid not, Headmaster," said Lupin absently. "It doesn't work like that for me. Sirius' response to scent is different again - as I suspect Minerva's would be. Miss Granger, please move away. Your scent is compromising the results I'm getting from Severus."

"Sorry," she said, automatically doing as she had been asked without realising what he had just said.

"Now this is interesting," said Lupin, a little time later, having mapped out the Dark Mark on the unblemished skin by scent alone. "Sirius, come and smell this and tell me what you think."

"I think that if anyone ever finds out I've spent the evening sniffing Severus' forearm... "

While his arm was extended, Snape seemed to have divorced himself from what was happening. Except for the sound of light snuffling the room was quiet for some time.

"Nothing. The area of the Dark Mark has no smell at all," said Black as he straightened.

"Like Voldemort," said Snape bleakly, his muscles of his face set. It was even worse than he had feared; there really was no way out.

"You're nothing like him," said Hermione briskly. "That's just his equivalent of a stamp of ownership on your arm. Nothing to do with you."

Busy rolling down his shirt sleeve as fast as he could without being obvious about it, Snape turned to her. "Don't deceive yourself, Miss Granger." He had yet to regain the weight he had lost during his days in the cell and the bones of his face seemed suddenly even more prominent.

Wishing fiercely that she had the right to offer comfort, she hoped that someone could see what this news had done to him. She flinched when she saw Snape looking at her, an expression she wasn't sure how to interpret on his face.

"Don't waste your pity," he said in a harsh undertone.

"I was just wondering how such an intelligent man could be so stupid at times," she snapped, before her expression grew intent.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" asked Lupin, his watchful gaze moving from Snape to her and back again.

"Does anyone know what Harry's scar smells of?" Hermione muttered. "It always hurts him when Voldemort is near. A lot. To the point where he can hardly think."

"As does Severus' Dark Mark," said Dumbledore quietly.

Snape's head rose. "You know about that? It never used to. Or only for a moment or so. When he would summon the Death Eaters. When I failed to obey the pain would fade to a background burning - similar to sunburn. But since I returned to him..." Shrugging, he fell silent, although he was unconsciously rubbing his forearm.

Dumbledore's gaze grew more intent. "It changed then?"

Snape nodded.

"What did he do to link you?"

His defences down, Snape was caught unawares, the humiliation on his face betraying him.

Beside her, Hermione felt Lupin tense, saw Black open his mouth and scrunched her eyes shut, willing him to remain silent. If he forced the subject into the open Snape would kill him.

"The mark, what did he do to the mark?" she asked feverishly. "It must have been more than Cruciatus, because you'd suffered that before. And surely physical torture wouldn't be enough - it would take magic." She could feel herself running out of breath but the dangerous moment seemed to have passed. Standing close together, as if for support - or their mutual comfort - Lupin and Black were carefully not looking at Snape, although she could have sworn Black's hands were shaking until he stuffed them into his pockets, out of sight.

Snape blinked, the dangerous look leaving his face. "Yes. I'd forgotten. I was too bloody terrified," he added sourly.

"I'm not surprised," said Black brusquely. "I would have been pissing myself. Sorry, Miss Granger. Go on, Severus."

His eyes narrowed, Snape was too busy concentrating on something only he could see to be aware of support from such an unlikely quarter. "He traced the Dark Mark with a finger. His nail cut an outline and as the blood hit the Mark the pain... I lost consciousness for a short time. When I came round he was laughing with Wormtail, saying he'd never lose track of me again. Until Albus did...whatever he did a few weeks ago I was never without pain. It just got worse when Voldemort summoned me."

Her head propped in her hands, Hermione massaged her temples with her thumbs as she pulled a face to stop the stupid tears that would embarrass everyone. No wonder he'd been such a bastard in class. But she hated the deadened note that had entered his voice, as if he had abandoned hope of ever being free. And yet still he worked for Dumbledore...

Saint Severus rides again. Not. It was probably just because he was bloody-minded enough to resent losing control of his life. Russia had been described as a riddle wrapped in an enigma, which just about summed up Severus. Maybe he had Russian blood somewhere down the family tree. Or maybe he was just an English puzzle she was going to do her damnedest to solve.

"Headmaster, Voldemort's link with Harry wasn't voluntary, was it?" she asked into the silence which had fallen.

"I very much doubt it. He came close to dying in that first encounter."

Raising her head Hermione stared at Snape until he sensed her surveillance and looked around.

"Miss Granger?"

"Does Voldemort have any mark on him?"

"None that I'm aware of."

"Damn," she muttered without heat. "Another theory down the... We need to know if Harry's scar has a scent."

"Well, I could just go up to him in Potions and sniff his forehead," said Snape disagreeably.

"I'll do it," said Black.

"When?" asked Lupin practically. "You're never alone with him during term time."

"I could do it," said Hermione without enthusiasm.

"No," said Snape flatly, unconscious of the glances the other men gave him.

Hermione nodded. "You're probably right. Mr Black would be best."

"I shall have to make a point of patrolling at night with my dog," said Lupin. "Sirius is our best hope of checking for other Dark Marks."

"We don't know that it's the same for others," pointed out Snape, unconsciously rubbing his arm. "I'll have to pay more attention."

"Tricky while screaming your head off under Cruciatus, I would have thought," said Hermione. "But at least we have a starting place, thanks to you." It was only then that she realised just how tired she was. "I'm dreadfully sorry but I think I need to sleep."

"Oh, good," said Dumbledore. "At the risk of sounding inhospitable I'm hoping everyone feels the same way."

"Never let it be said we couldn't take a hint," said Black, leading the way to the door. "Severus? Remus and I need someone to protect us from Miss Granger."

"Actually, I'd like a word with him," she said, after they bid Dumbledore good night and went single-file down the stairs.

"Run for your lives," said Snape. Beneath the resignation she was willing to swear she could hear amusement.

"Definitely," said Black as they emerged onto the corridor. "Potions class tomorrow?"

"If you wish."

"Yes. We'll be there. 'Night."

Lupin smiled, nodded and followed Black, leaving Hermione and Snape following in their wake at a far slower pace.

"What do you wish to know?" asked Snape two long corridors later, when Hermione had made no attempt to break the silence. Swallowing a yawn, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"You aren't planning anything stupid like finding out if Voldemort does have a Mark, are you?" she asked, blunt because she had been able to think of no tactful way of framing the question.

"You're being impertinent," he said sharply, his stride lengthening.

Hermione discovered she was virtually trotting to keep up with him. "No. Just practical. We don't know what advantage the knowledge will be until we've checked out Harry's scar. And even then... It's not worth it."

He gave her an irritable glare. "It's no concern of... Rest assured, should I require your guidance on how to conduct my life I'll be certain to ask."

Having got off lighter than she had expected, Hermione nodded. "Yes, professor."

Boot heels scraped stone as Snape came to an abrupt halt. "Are you humouring me?" The outrage in his voice made her want to giggle, although she suspected that might have as much to do with the fact she was so tired she could hardly think straight.

"No, just worrying about you. It's late, I'm tired, and this is the corridor to my chambers. Good night. Oh, professor."

"No," he said.

"You didn't even wait to hear what I was going to ask."

Amused by her would-be ferocity, only the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. "That's because I don't need to. Come." He walked her to the door to her chamber. "There."

"You don't have to sound quite so relieved to be getting rid of me," she said crossly.

"You were going to ask if you could attend the Potions class I'm holding with Remus, Sirius and Poppy. The answer is no, you can't."

Her face fell. "Oh." Unconsciously pleating a portion of fabric between her fingers, she looked down. "I thought I was... You said I was adequate at Potions."

"At the risk of paraphrasing you, not everything is about you, Miss Granger."

"I don't understand." She gave him a blank look.

The smallest of smiles twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"That wasn't what I meant. And you know it," she added with spirit. "Though if Professor Lupin and Mr Black are going to be there it can't be a master class, so it must be for Madam Pomfrey." She gave him a speculative look.

"Yes," he confirmed, irritable when, despite himself, he reacted to the approval in her smile. "Good night."

Six strides down the corridor he paused, then turned to see she was still standing where he had left her. "What?" he demanded, returning to her side. "What is it you really wanted to ask me?" he added, impatient when she continued to stare at him.

"How did you know?"

"Intuition," he said dryly, before he grimaced and opted for the truth. "I've been teaching for seventeen years. In the process I've learnt a few things myself. Whatever it is, ask so we can get some sleep."

"What do I smell of?" she blurted out. Mortified by her gauche behaviour she glared fiercely at him. "Quid pro quo, Professor."

"A point best made while you still have information with which to bargain, Miss Granger," he pointed out, amused. He smiled when her glare intensified. "There's more truth to that rhyme than you suppose."

"I do not smell of slugs," she said, outraged.

"Sugar and spice, Miss Granger. Sugar and spice. Or in your case ripe figs and honey." Her mouth parted in a way he found highly distracting.

"Oh," she said faintly before she made a typical recovery. "Isn't that rather cloying?"

The charm in his grin rocked her where she stood. "Not where you're concerned. Did I forget to mention the vinegar?"

"You made that up," she said, her eyes narrowing.

His hands parted. "I'm a Slytherin. Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night." It was a moment more before she thought to go inside, and a moment more before she closed her door, still smiling.


	16. Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

 

Snape was less than thrilled to find himself dry-humping the mattress like a randy fifteen year old; his temper wasn't improved when he realised who had been fuelling his pre-waking fantasy. While it was an undoubted improvement on his usual line in dreams, he had yet to recover from the humiliation of lusting over a pupil when he went down to breakfast. Entertaining as his discussions with Miss Granger were it was time to draw back before he crossed that invisible line, he decided, brisk so he wouldn't have to think beyond that yet.

"There you are!" said Black, a broad gesture almost sending Madam Pomfrey's glass of apricot juice flying.

"So it would seem. What do you want?" Snape added, braced for insult.

"I've been reading those books you suggested and I can't reconcile what Funicula Nettlesting says about the use of lacewings with the commentary in - "

"Later," said Snape, sinking on the first free chair and reaching for the teapot which appeared in front of him, the contents already stewed and half-cold.

"But - "

"You'll get more sense out of him once he's had his first cup of tea. Or three," added Lupin realistically.

Snape glanced up just as Hermione leant forward, unconsciously offering the most delicious view of her breasts - way past the freckles, he noted. Overly aware of his erection, he drew closer to the table and wondered why he had been stupid enough to choose the empty chair beside hers.

It occurred to him that there was something to be said for impotence - apart from the obvious swearing and moaning about malign fate.

Having helped herself to some raspberries, Hermione licked the tart sweetness from the corner of her mouth and gave a friendly smile when she saw Snape looking in her direction. There was something endearing about discovering he wasn't an early morning person. Of course, there were those who would claim he wasn't a day, evening or night person either.

His elbows on the table, his hand wrapped around the large cup, Snape slowly drank his first cup of tea, glaring when he noticed the beams Professors Sprout and Flitwick were sending his way as they seated themselves opposite him.

"Better?" asked Professor McGonagall, who was a morning, noon and night person and who, after twenty six years as Head of Gryffindor, missed very little of what went on around her.

"Than what?" asked Snape disagreeably.

"There's an obvious answer to that," said Black.

"Which you're not going to make because we're all trying to behave like adults," said Lupin pointedly.

"Something which will be more of a struggle for some of us than others," said Madam Hooch, an amused glint in her eyes as she fanned the flames.

"Freyja, behave," said Professor McGonagall, quenching a grin. "So, about this smelling business," she added briskly. "Tell us the worst Severus."

Snape forgot his sense of humiliation to glare at Hermione.

"Um," said Lupin apologetically.

Snape redirected his glare.

Lupin shrugged. "I was simply discussing the various ways we have of processing sensory information. Your primary source of identification is associated with food and drink, mine is emotions while Sirius has no such distractions."

"My sense of smell is poor," said Professor McGonagall, as she neatly removed a tiny bone from her kipper. "Miss Granger's is vastly superior to mine and like yours is geared to food or plants. Unlike you, her ability only seems to manifest itself when she's in close proximity to people. So, what do we all smell of, Severus? If it's something disgusting, lie."

"No one smells disgusting - except too many teenage boys in a confined space." Snape added cream and brown sugar to his porridge but his enjoyment of the dish was marred by discovering his every mouthful was under surveillance. He set down his spoon with a clink of annoyance.

"For pity's sake! You're like children, only even more irritating because none of you are likely to grow out of it. Minerva - apple brandy, a good brand. Sirius - lime peel. Remus - Earl Grey tea. Poppy - buttered toast. Ceres - Christmas pudding. March - elderberries. Freyja - peaches and ginger. Now, if there's nothing else, I'd like to eat my breakfast in peace."

Of the view that the various associations revealed more about Snape's feelings for the individuals concerned - particularly the female members of staff - than he would be comfortable realising, Hermione decided not to comment on them.

"What do Harry and Ron smell of?" she asked, pursuing another train of thought.

"So much for peace," muttered Snape. "Potter of unripe gooseberries, Weasley of basil and cranberries."

"Did Fred and George smell the same to you?" pursued Hermione.

Snape's murderous look faded to resignation when he recognised the intent expression of the dedicated seeker after truth. If this summer had taught him nothing else he had learned it was quicker just to surrender to the Granger-Thirst-For-Knowledge. He was obviously paying the price for ignoring all her arm-waving in the classroom.

"All the Weasley males have a trace of basil in their scent. That aside, the twins smelt very different. Which is why I had no trouble telling them apart, much to their chagrin."

"They only fooled me once," said Professor McGonagall, a reminiscent edge to her voice before she smiled at Hermione with a familiar warmth and approval.

The change had been gradual but Hermione had been thankful to realise she had been forgiven for what some members of staff had taken as a personal criticism of their teaching methods.

"I suppose there's no chance...?" she asked hopefully. It wasn't often anyone had got the better of the twins.

"I'm afraid not," said Professor McGonagall, with what looked like regret.

"Any more than you would tell us about your activities," said Madam Hooch.

"Oh, I think we know about most of them," said Snape in his silkiest voice.

Hermione ventured a glance in his direction, saw the amusement in his eyes and said, "I was sorry about stealing from your stock cupboard."

"Before or after your weeks in the hospital wing?" he returned, but without any real bite.

About to reply, Hermione paused. "You're trying to distract me from your sense of smell," she realised, looking outraged by such deviousness.

"And it was working," he said wryly. He used to be better at this. "What else do you want to know?" he added with resignation.

"As Professor McGonagall said, I need to be really close to someone to smell them. For instance, I can't smell you even though I'm sitting next to you. How close to people do you have to get? Oh. Is that why you're always looming over us in Potions?"

There was an abrupt silence around the table before muffled explosions of amusement could be heard. Still as a cat at a mouse-hole Snape stared at her, dark eyes unblinking, mouth thinned and unsmiling.

Hermione rushed back into speech. "I didn't mean to suggest you're some kind of pervert who goes round sniffing his students..." Her brain catching up with her errant tongue, she ground to a halt.

Black laughed so hard she thought he would be sick, Professor McGonagall got hiccups, Madam Pomfrey was crying and Flitwick toppled off his chair.

"Sorry," muttered Hermione unhappily, staring at Snape's second shirt button.

"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger," he said blandly. "I've received many insults over the years but this is a first. Note the heart-warming 'support' of my supposed colleagues." Reaching into a pocket, he handed Dumbledore a clean handkerchief. "'A despairing man should have the devotion of his friends.'"

Wiping the smears from his spectacles, it occurred to Dumbledore that a year ago Severus would have savaged them verbally before stalking off to his chambers to sulk for a week. Now... Now he looked as if it had required all his training not to laugh out loud. Dumbledore gave him an approving pat on the arm and steered the conversation to the ability of animagi to process the input from the heightened senses of their animal forms, enabling Snape to eat the rest of his breakfast in peace.

 

The owl post arrived when everyone had reached the toast stage. Post was always heavy on Mondays and there was a positive cascade of items, the air ghosting with the eerie silence of owl wings. Far from being cut off from the wizarding world at Hogwarts the professors maintained extensive correspondence with specialists in their fields all over the world; Hermione's was by far the smallest post.

The inevitable cup of tea in one hand, Snape was flipping through parchments, periodicals and parcels, only to pause, his eyebrows rising when he came to a red envelope.

"Well, that's a first," said Madam Hooch, looking up from a catalogue of broomstick accessories. "Some irate parent has finally sent you a Howler."

"Very possibly. But who - and why have they waited so long?" Twirling the envelope in his long fingers Snape looked faintly amused.

There was a gentle cough to his left.

"Why am I not surprised," sighed Snape, looking at Dumbledore with resignation. "You told Molly."

"Given what you proposed, it would be difficult to keep her in the dark. She didn't seem too pleased," Dumbledore added pensively. "Still, if you wait to open it until you're in your chambers most of what she has to say should remain private."

"I like an optimist," murmured Snape. "You had to tell her it was my idea?"

"Credit where credit's due. It was you or me," added Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

"Then you should share this," said Snape, slitting open the envelope.

The wrath of Molly Weasley reverberated around the Great Hall. It quickly became clear that she hadn't taken kindly to the suggestion she leave the house she had occupied all her married life, let alone that she should become a teacher whose salary was paid for by Severus Snape. She had taken the news of Charlie's jaunt to Albania even less well. Wincing under the onslaught, Snape gathered that Molly had no intention of living anywhere but her own home, or of teaching.

As the Howler came to an end Professor Sprout gave an affectionate smile. "Only Molly could ruin the effect of a good Howler by hoping you weren't still looking peaky. I must say, you do look better than you did at the start of the summer."

"Not difficult," sniffed Professor McGonagall. "I've seen dead fish who looked healthier."

"I think I've lost my hearing in one ear," complained Black. "Remus, are you still eating?"

"I'm hungry," said Lupin, placidly dabbing mustard on a piece of sausage. He gave Professor Sprout a shrewd look. "You and March are looking very pleased with yourselves this morning."

"That's because we are," said Flitwick in his fluting voice, levitating off the raised seat of his chair in his excitement. "It's always gratifying when hard work bears fruit but - Ceres, you should be the one to tell him."

"Not at all, March. If it hadn't been for your - "

"Tell who?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Why, Severus, of course," said Professor Sprout comfortably. "You mentioned Hermione's idea about Severus taking Voldemort a gift. Something highly prized, yet nothing which could be used against us. Something that will demonstrate the regard in which Severus supposedly holds him."

"Is there any chance of you getting to the point in the foreseeable future?" asked Snape.

"Even Voldemort wouldn't find it easy to get a Centennial Lily. I managed to coax one of the seeds to germinate. With a little nurturing it's coming on splendidly, thanks to the Accelerated Growth Charm March has perfected."

There was a chorus of congratulation; this was a charm Flitwick had been working on for some years. Having undertaken some intensive research about the Centennial Lily in his quest for the seed, Snape knew enough to be able to make an educated guess about how many hours they must have spent working on this.

"The lily was intended for you," he said, wondering if he had failed to make that sufficiently clear.

"As if any flower, no matter how rare or precious to Ceres, could compare to your well-being. You always were a foolish boy," chided Flitwick

At a loss how to respond to the open affection in his voice, Snape scowled and muttered his thanks. He glanced up as a chair scraped back, Hermione jumping up to kiss first Professor Sprout, then Flitwick, on the cheek, murmuring something to them he couldn't hear before resuming her seat, her eyes glowing with pleasure.

"Thank you, my dears," said Dumbledore. "Hermione and I have been worrying about what gift Severus could make."

Snape shot him a look of surprise and tried not to bristle at the idea of anyone worrying about him, while feeling absurdly gratified. These holidays had rotted his brain.

"Pish," dismissed Professor Sprout, but she looked so pleased and so happy that Snape felt ashamed of his failure to make the ungrudging response which came so easily to others.

"Of course," she continued, giving him a mischievous look from across the table, "if you really feel under an obligation to me there is a small task you could perform."

Knowing that tone of old, Snape looked resigned. "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"You never have yet," she admitted cheerfully.

He groaned. "Not harvesting the water lilies?"

"There now. You remembered."

"It would be hard to forget. Last year a Grindylow took a lump out of my side. Tell me what you need," he added.

"Thank you. At least the water will be warmer this year."

Snape grimaced. "Which means that bloody squid will be livelier than ever. You know it always - " Remembering Hermione's presence beside him, he stopped abruptly.

"Gropes you," completely Professor Sprout, beaming. "It's just being playful."

"A squid's about the best you could hope for," added Black.

Snape gave him a considering look but opted to keep the moral high ground and remain silent. He rubbed salt in the wound by then referring back to the query Black had raised about lacewings. He was amused to note that while Lupin took that at face value, Black knew exactly what he was doing. So, he was disconcerted to realise, did Hermione. Maybe there was hope for Gryffindors yet. But he was obviously losing his touch.

 

"Madam Hooch, I wonder if I might have a word?" asked Hermione, nervous because this was the teacher she knew least and who seemed to disapprove of her the most.

"Certainly. What do you want?" asked Madam Hooch, in her usual direct manner.

Hermione willed herself not to fidget under that unblinking stare. "It occurred to me that while everyone is training to hone their skills... I've never been good at flying."

"No," agreed Madam Hooch, with a faint, reminiscent grin. "Although I can't fault your perseverance. You'd like a refresher course?"

"Failing a miracle," nodded Hermione, grateful it had been made so easy for her.

"There's no time like the present. I'm always glad of an excuse to get my leg over a broomstick."

Hermione blinked, checked Madam Hooch's bland expression and assumed she must have misheard.

 

Dismounting, Hermione staggered, righted herself and caught hold of the nearest support, which happened to be Madam Hooch's arm.

"No one's ever going to accuse me of being a natural, are they," she mumbled, feeling too air-sick to care how much she had humiliated herself.

"Not in my hearing. And I'm not convinced practice is going to make any difference," Madam Hooch said frankly. "Let's get you inside. Would you like some advice?"

"Only if it contains the words 'you need never get on a broomstick again'," said Hermione with a wan smile.

"Miss Granger, your wish has come true. Seriously, you could kill yourself. Or me. Or anyone watching you. I thought you were going to crash into Serpens Tower at one point. You stick to the ground. Given your application, if you haven't mastered the basics of safe flying by now you never will. Don't look so downcast. There isn't a wizard alive who's good at everything."

"In that case I'm never going to look at a broomstick again," said Hermione with obvious relief. "Thank you - not least for being so patient."

"I admire guts," said Madam Hooch, steering her into the main hall. "Both in the air, and on the ground. I believe I misjudged your motives and I'm sorry for it. What can I do to help?"

Uncertain of Madam Hooch's academic abilities, Hermione thought quickly. "I've been wondering about Voldemort's attacks on Muggle and Wizarding families. Whether some of those might be him getting his revenge - or some other motive - on old classmates."

"Book work," sighed Madam Hooch. "No doubt it will be character building. Leave it with me. And I'll have a word with Albus to see if he'll let me start you on Apparition. You're level-headed, physically mature, strong. I'm sure you'll do well. Ah, here comes Poppy to ensure I haven't bruised her ewe lamb."

"Nonsense, Freyja. Although I confess there was a moment when I feared she was about to crash through a window of Serpens Tower. Here, take this, my dear. It will soon settle your stomach," Madam Pomfrey said to Hermione as she steered her into the Great Hall and on to a chair.

"Too late," said Madam Hooch cheerfully. "She lost that somewhere over the Forbidden Forest."

The potion was cool, smooth and with just a hint of ginger. Hermione began to feel better almost immediately. "Is this a new recipe for Antiquease? Only it tastes much better than I remember."

"You really like it?" asked Madam Pomfrey, looking faintly anxious.

"Yes. And you were right. My stomach is settling down already. You made this!" Hermione recognised, giving the older woman a quick hug. "I knew you would be able to brew potions. You must be thrilled to bits."

"I can't tell you. I was so nervous I almost made an excuse not to work with Severus today," Madam Pomfrey confessed

"What changed your mind?"

"Severus. He seemed to think it was his teaching reputation which was putting me off."

"So naturally you had to prove him wrong," said Madam Hooch. "You really must have been nervous not to spot that old chestnut. He played you like a fish on a line."

"That's what he told me - afterwards," admitted Madam Pomfrey ruefully, before she beamed at the empty glass which had contained the Antiquease. "I know it's one of the simplest potions around but that's the first really good potion I've made since my Pupillage over fifty years ago. Poor Severus. I was so excited, I kissed him."

Madam Hooch chuckled and gave the older woman a quick kiss on the cheek. "Well done. Will you be brewing again tonight?"

Her eyes sparkling, Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "Severus threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't go away and leave him in peace until tomorrow. I admit, I hadn't appreciated how many hours we'd been working. He started me off with cough mixtures - the Ticklebegone and Hackitup. Cleaning the snails is such tedious work that I suppose I forgot to worry."

"I don't think I know the Ticklebegone," said Hermione, frowning.

"It couldn't be simpler. In fact it's not a real potion. You place clean, live snails with equal quantities of moist brown sugar and suspend in a muslin bag for twenty four hours, letting the ensuing juice drip into a container. And there you have it," shrugged Madam Pomfrey. "I made a years' supply. Severus said I could try the Easiheal tomorrow followed by the Pepper-Up if all goes well."

"We should celebrate," said Hermione. "The headmaster said he wants us to relax as well as work during this extra time. May I take you to Hogsmeade tonight?"

"Thank you, my dear. I should like that. Although don't let me over-indulge on the sloe gin. I don't want a hangover tomorrow morning. Severus hasn't mellowed that much," Madam Pomfrey added, her eyes twinkling.

"Speak of the devil," said Madam Hooch. "Severus! It's no good trying to head in the other direction, we've seen you now."

"'Procul hinc, procul este, severae!'" he said, holding up one hand in an ancient gesture used to ward off evil.

"Very flattering," grinned Madam Hooch. "It's all right, Poppy's promised not to hug you."

Approaching them with obvious reluctance, Snape gave Madam Pomfrey a look of reproach.

"Don't worry, I'll not going to kiss you again," she said happily, her blue eyes sparkling with delight. "Hermione confirms the efficacy of the Antiquease," she added proudly.

"My judgement being suspect in such matters," said Snape, but Hermione noted that he looked quietly pleased with himself. "You did well today. As I expected."

"All due to you, of course," teased Madam Hooch.

"Did you doubt it? How did you enjoy your flying lesson, Miss Granger?"

She eyed him with resignation. "You saw me?"

"We all saw you. Although it was the screaming which first alerted us." He had the ruined potion to prove it.

She shook her head. "I might have known you'd kick a person when they're down."

"One would have thought," he agreed, only the gleam in his eyes betraying him.

"Madam Hooch is going to ask the headmaster if I can learn to Apparate."

Snape glanced at Madam Hooch, one eyebrow raised. "Rather you than me."

"Just because I can't fly - " began Hermione hotly.

Madam Pomfrey patted her on the arm. "Hush. Don't let Severus provoke you. Minerva's never learnt not to rise to his baiting about Quidditch."

Hermione looked chagrined. "I should have spotted you at it," she said moodily.

"So one would have thought. But Gryffindor simplicity stands little chance against Slytherin guile," said Snape, his expression bland as milk.

"Which is just a polite way of calling Gryffindors stupid," said Hermione, prickling with irritation.

"Severus, stop teasing. No Gryffindor worthy of the name could refuse the bait, so where's the sport? Don't look to us for support, Miss Granger," added Madam Hooch, smiling. "Poppy and I are Hufflepuffs."

"Which reminds me," said Snape. "Albus was asking after you. Something about the new girls' dormitory in Hufflepuff."

"I'll go to him now," said Madam Hooch. With a mischievous grin she held out one hand, summoned her broomstick and flew up towards the ceiling in a dizzying series of loops.

"That's forbidden," said Hermione with a disapproval that was tinged with envy. "She's a fantastic flyer."

"Yes," agreed Snape. "She was offered a place on the England reserve team but chose to work at Hogwarts instead."

"Most people would kill for an offer like that," said Hermione, thinking of Harry's rarely spoken of ambition to play for England.

"Most people don't have Albus Dumbledore asking them to do him a favour," said Snape dryly before he looked thoughtfully up the main staircase. " It's years since I've flown the corridors."

"You flew in the corridors?" said Hermione incredulously.

"I'm not that decrepit," snapped Snape.

"I can see that for myself. I meant... Never mind," said Hermione, seeing dangerous waters ahead.

"Probably as well," said Snape, under no illusions.

"Absolutely," said Madam Pomfrey with decision. "I hope you're not planning to work all night again," she added, studying Snape's face with a professional eye.

He gave her a sour look. "Thanks to the ward Albus placed on the door of my laboratory - and the work room in the dungeons, no. Not brewing, anyway. He wants me to 'frivol' for a few hours each day."

Hermione grinned at the wealth of meaning with which Snape imbued the simple word. If only...

Glancing at Madam Pomfrey, she saw they had both had the same thought.

"I suppose flying the corridors would qualify," Madam Pomfrey said. "Would you object to a passenger? I've always longed to but I don't have the skill."

"Now?" said Snape, and for a moment Hermione glimpsed the boy he could have been in the man he was.

"Now," agreed Madam Pomfrey.

It took a little time for Snape to summon his broomstick and make the necessary adaptations for tandem flying and then they were off, leaving a disconsolate Hermione feeling ridiculously like Cinderella on the night of the ball - only without the Fairy Godmother. She would have liked to have seen Snape frivol - but on the ground.

***

 

Oblivious to the fact he had been working for six hours with barely a pause, Black was squinting with concentration, his hands shaking as he stirred the mixture in the copper cauldron, monitoring the minute changes in temperature required for this, the penultimate stage in the Skele-Gro Potion. He gave a sudden groan of despair.

"Severus."

But Snape was already at his side. "I smell it. Stand back. There's nothing to be done but let it go."

"I lost concentration," muttered Black, furious with himself and resentful of Snape's effortless expertise.

"Skele-Gro fools many a wizard by its deceptive ease. Given the short length of time you've been studying, you did well."

"Don't patronise me," snapped Black.

"Very well. You're a careless bastard who keeps his brains in his prick most of the time. Now can we get on?"

A Cooling Charm reduced the temperature of the ruined potion, a Containment Charm ensuring no fumes escaped as it was safely disposed of.

"I can't believe I screwed it up so close to - " Black began to pace in his frustration.

"Save the histrionics for later. First, clear the area, then start work on the Shrinking Solution. It's more efficacious if made in small batches - no more than four applications. Once bottled, it will require a Preserving Charm. Don't forget to date each batch."

Black was pacing up and down. "I must have been mad to think I could do this. A first year could do better."

"Well I've yet to meet one who could, but no doubt you know best." Snape handed him a parchment. "A suggested reading list. If you wish to discuss anything with me, do so."

Black twitched it from him with a grudging grunt of acknowledgement, hating the feeling of being in Snape's debt for the hours he was spending with him. Not that he seemed to be enjoying it much either.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked abruptly.

Snape looked up from the cauldron he was cleaning. "Despite all Ceres hard work no gift is going to keep me alive indefinitely. And Hogwarts needs a decent Potions master. Lupin's an adequate teacher but you'll need to do the brewing."

"But what about the Wolfsbane?" asked Black.

Appreciating the other man's priorities, Snape gave a sardonic smile. "March is working with me to refine a Preserving Charm to enable it to last longer than twelve months before it begins to degrade. I'm going to begin brewing the new batch tonight."

They had been working long hours together for over a week now but this was the first time Black had really looked at the other man as anything but a source of information - and irritation. He belatedly recognised that for Snape the extra two weeks just meant fourteen extra sleepless nights until the Initiation Ceremony on the twenty fifth. Albus' insistence that they all spent a few hours 'frivolling' out of every twenty four made more sense in Snape's case - although what Snape did to relax didn't bear thinking about...

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he was appalled to hear himself ask.

Snape turned in obvious surprise.

"I meant what I said about that truce - even if I don't always remember it."

Snape shrugged. "There's a lot of tedious preparation work."

"I'll be here."

In the event, Snape ended up giving a virtual Master Class when everyone, with the exception of Madam Hooch and Professor Sprout, turned up. While Hermione and Black began to collect up the lengthy list of utensils and ingredients and Lupin wrote the potion ingredients on a board he had manufactured, Snape gave the background and development difficulties of the Wolfsbane, drawing in Madam Pomfrey and Lupin to discuss the medical side.

"Is Snape all right?" whispered Black, as they chopped giant leeches from Sumatra at a precise forty five degree angle. "He looks as if he's going to be sick."

"So would you if you were giving Albus Dumbledore a Potions lecture - not to mention others who've known you since you were eleven," returned Hermione. "Now be quiet, I don't want to miss any of this."

 

The first stage completed just after one in the morning, Snape looked heavy-eyed but quietly pleased with himself as he and Flitwick sat in a sea of parchments down in Snape's study, ignoring the food everyone kept trying to press on them in favour of their discussion.

"If it wasn't for Voldemort the Seventh years would be able to sit in on sessions like this," said Professor McGonagall crossly. "The compromises Severus has had to make. And their education is suffering because of it. I hear you went off to the House of Mirth with Poppy and Severus to listen to Miniver Cheeve the other night. What did you think of him?"

"Not a lot," said Hermione frankly. "In fact in some ways he reminded me of Gilderoy Lockhart. Madam Pomfrey wiped the floor with him. Politely, of course. Then Cheeve made the mistake of talking about the use of wands in potions-making."

"Oh, I wish I'd been there. I assume Severus didn't bother to be polite," said Professor McGonagall, amused.

"It was wonderful. If you weren't Cheeve, of course. But listening to him made me realise I need to do some more reading," Hermione added wryly.

"Severus has that effect on people. Mercy, look at the time. You should be in bed."

"I'm not that tired," said Hermione with truth. "I've learnt so much, heard so many discussions this last week that my brain's buzzing. It's only another week to the twenty fifth," she whispered, her gaze on Snape's bent head as he and Flitwick studied a faded text written in a mixture of Latin and one of the more obscure Goblin ancient languages. "I keep worrying about how many classmates..."

His hearing acute, Flitwick glanced up. "Why? Surely you've been told that Voldemort rarely picks anyone until their eighteenth birthday. He often waits far longer than that."

Hermione stared at him. "But on the twenty fifth there's no one from our year. I checked and I'm the oldest and my birthday's not until the nineteenth of September - although there's a whole rash of people after me. So it will be those who left last year," she said with relief.

"That's right. No one you need worry about," said Snape, an unpleasant sneer on his face.

Dumbledore studied the pointed toes of his orange slippers and McGonagall sucked in her breath but made no attempt to intervene.

Flinching, Hermione didn't try to defend herself; there had been an uncomfortable amount of truth in that bitter statement. Her main concern was for her friends rather than former pupils, many of whom she hardly knew or who were faceless strangers. Except that for many of the staff they were far from faceless. While they had been careful not to discuss pupils in front of her - for obvious reasons - it was impossible not to be aware of how seriously they took their responsibilities towards them: all of them.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I spoke without thinking."

"Something you should avoid making a habit of during term time," Snape said acidly.

"Yes," she conceded, prickles of humiliation stinging her face because she knew he was right.

"We all have to make adjustments for term time," said Professor Flitwick, giving Hermione a smile of such sweetness that it shored up her shaky confidence to the point where she felt able to ask a question which had been bothering her for some time.

"Professor Flitwick, do you know if Harry's spoken to Professor Sprout - about Cedric Diggory, I mean?"

"I know he hasn't," he said. "And - for obvious reasons - Ceres has been reluctant to approach him."

"As have we all," said Dumbledore. "Except Severus, and I over-ruled him."

Despite the gravity of what they were discussing Hermione gave a tired grin. "I didn't think anyone could do that."

"You'll have remembered that I'm sitting ten feet away?" said Snape idly, stretching out his long legs as he made himself more comfortable.

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, trying not to notice the close fit of those black trousers - the length of thigh and soft swelling of his genitals. He dressed to the centre right. Realising what she was doing in full view of half the staff - not to mention Snape himself - she slid her gaze to the table leg before slowly allowing herself to look up. To her relief, no one seemed to have noticed her previous preoccupation.

"Harry still thinks about Cedric?" asked Dumbledore.

Abruptly it was all too easy to concentrate on something apart from Snape. "He doesn't say so. But then he doesn't usually talk about the things that bother him the most. I think he still blames himself for Cedric's death."

Dumbledore glanced at Snape. "You were right."

"He's Lily's son," Snape shrugged. "And Potter always had an over-active conscience."

It was a moment before Hermione appreciated he was speaking about Harry's father - his classmate. Which made Snape, technically, old enough to be her father. Which was absurd.

Making her excuses a few minutes later Hermione went to bed, but it couldn't be said that she slept well.


	17. Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

 

Irritable and out of sorts, the following morning Hermione ensured she kept herself busy because it saved her from thoughts she had no intention of examining too closely; she had never been one to indulge in a fantasy life and she wasn't about to start now. And if she told herself that enough times it might make the last part true. Working with Professor Flitwick, she applied herself to honing her knowledge and use of Charms, including many not usually taught in the school syllabus.

Flitwick looked sorrowful. "Unpleasant, I know, but necessary in these troubled times. Thanks to Severus we know many of the curses and hexes employed by the Death Eaters. While countering them is rarely easy, it is possible with application, concentration and an excellent teacher - all of which you have," he added, cheering up enough to twinkle at her. "The sharp-witted can defend themselves against Cruciatus and Imperius - with regard to Avada Kedavra the best they can hope for is to escape it, or incapacitate their enemy before they have a chance to administer it. So, we practice, and practice and practice. More, you need to learn to trust your instincts. Don't blindly follow every path I suggest. Do you understand?"

She had been aware of his placid temperament and great kindness for years but this summer she had come to realise that Snape wasn't the only member of staff to hide behind an assumed personality. It was no accident that Flitwick was Head of Ravenclaw- or that even Snape listened to him with respect and affection, try as he might to hide it.

"Yes," she said. "You intend that I should become the best I can be."

Patting her hand, he gave her a beam of approval. "There now. As you've stopped shaking we'll try that counter-hex once more."

The following day he began to instruct her in Advanced Duelling, with the practical assistance of Madam Hooch, who tested Hermione to her limits - and beyond. By the end of each day she was so tired she had no energy to spare for introspection before falling asleep but her reflexes were sharpening, her mind processing and reacting to information she was barely aware of possessing. She was discovering a capacity for ruthlessness in herself which she found profoundly disquieting; the word 'duel' prettied up an ugly reality and she or Madam Hooch sometimes required the attentions of Madam Pomfrey after a session.

 

Six hours of duelling having left her all too aware of her inadequacies in that field, Hermione had a leisurely soak in the bath, which took care of most of her aches and pains, before dressing and wandering out into the grounds. She felt too tired to be hungry, plagued by an odd melancholy. It would soon be term-time. Only she didn't want the holiday to end and wasn't sure how she was going to fit back into the role she had carved out for herself. It was difficult to remember that she had ever believed the N.E.W.T.s mattered.

The air was beginning to cool and she walked around the lake and towards a small copse of trees, her only light that which came from the tip of her wand. A small breeze lifted tendrils of her hair, which had escaped confinement yet again.

She had been sitting in the same spot for almost an hour, trying not to startle every time she heard a noise, when something made her look up in time to see Snape heading towards her, casting a light bright enough to reveal his identity.

He glowered down at her, which made him ugly and stole away the things she loved most about him. She glared back.

"I was under the impression, obviously mistaken, that you had learnt a little consideration. The staff were worried about what had become of you. It's unwise to wander around the grounds in the dark."

"I wanted some time to think," said Hermione, hoping he would go away. This was Snape at his most intimidating and it closed him off from her more completely than a slammed door. Yet... He might be the razor-tongued tormentor from the classroom and an ex-Death Eater, but he didn't set off her spider sense - quite the reverse in fact, reassuring her easily and completely with nothing more than his presence. Absurd.

"In my experience all that's required is a brain." Snape favoured Hermione with one of his less endearing expressions before sinking down to sit opposite her, his long legs crossed, his hands relaxed and his back straight. "Is something troubling you?"

Hermione's eyes widened; Snape as an agony aunt was so unlikely it verged on the surreal. Or perhaps not. He was, after all, Head of House to two hundred and fifty Slytherins. Not that she could ever remember having any cosy chats with Professor McGonagall. Or wanting to for that matter, although there had been times when it would have been nice if she'd paid any interest to someone who didn't play Quidditch. Neville, for instance.

"You want me to tell you my problems?" she said incredulously.

The severity of his expression eased a little. "I don't recall saying that."

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. "That's more in character. Not troubling, exactly. It's just... I'm tired of hating."

"Ah. If you're in need of comforting platitudes you'd best speak to Albus."

"Aren't you? Tired of it, I mean?"

"We're not discussing my feelings."

"That doesn't mean you don't have them."

Snape looked pained. That lacked subtlety, even for a Gryffindor.

"You can't blame me for being curious," added Hermione, with an odd kind of desperation.

Snape's expression begged to differ.

"Ignore me. I'm fine," she said, getting to her feet, although she waited for Snape before heading back to the castle.

"Training with allies can be difficult," Snape said, breaking the lengthy silence. He held open the main door for her.

Hermione flinched, then fought to stop her face from crumpling. "I broke Madam Hooch's arm in three places."

"I know. She told me you seemed...upset."

"What the hell am I supposed to be?"

Snape gave her a considering look. "Are you 'upset' because you caused the injury, or because your first reaction was pleasure in your victory?"

"You bastard." Hermione swept past him and across the hall, before she stopped and with her back to him added, "You already know the answer."

"True. I wasn't sure if you did," he added quietly.

Exhaling softly, Hermione's head bent. "Oh yes," she murmured. "You treat me as an equal," she added a few seconds later, as they climbed the main staircase.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said in a tone dry as dust.

Despite herself she gave a faint smile. "No, that was overly optimistic of me. Does everything have to be paid for?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "Of course."

"Even happiness?"

His expression was bleakly revealing. "Especially happiness."

"I hate Voldemort," she burst out, her voice harsh and unfamiliar.

"I thought you were tired of hating?"

"I'll make an exception for him."

Snape paused. "I'm delighted to hear it. Good night, Miss Granger."

"Are you going to be brewing tonight?"

"Yes, another batch of second stage Wolfsbane."

"Could I help?"

"Not at this point."

"Then may I watch?" She didn't want to have to explain that she didn't want to be alone.

Snape studied her for a disconcerting few seconds. "If you wish."

Curling up in a comfortable armchair, set out of his way, Hermione rested her cheek against the cool leather and watched the quiet purposefulness of his movements. It was oddly soothing.

She was asleep in ten minutes.

 

"Is March free?" Snape asked Professor Sprout as he entered the Great Hall.

"Hello, dear," she said absently, the surface of the table in front of her a jumble of plates and parchments. "When I saw him last he was in the library looking for some Persian text he felt might impact on your discussions. I made him promise to rest this afternoon. He's been working with Hermione all week - in fact I've hardly seen him. And while I know he's greatly enjoying himself he isn't as strong as he thinks he is."

"Miss Granger would wear down the strongest of men," said Snape, swallowing a yawn. He had just finished brewing a year's supply of Wolfsbane and had yet to catch up on his sleep.

"If you have time I would appreciate your thoughts on this paper I'm writing. I'm sure there's a reference I've forgotten. Something we were discussing a couple of months ago. Sit down, do. I'll get a crick in my neck staring up at you."

Snape obediently sat, gave his order to a house elf and took the proffered parchment. After a few minutes he frowned, helped himself to Professor Sprout's quill and began to amend the text with the cramped, angular script which of his pupils knew only too well.

She watched him with poorly concealed amusement until, sensing he was under surveillance, Snape looked up and realised he had been correcting her work as if she was a backward third year.

Having been about to enter the Great Hall, Hermione and Professor McGonagall were hovering in the doorway the better to enjoy the moment.

"I wish I had a camera," breathed Hermione. "I didn't think he was capable of embarrassment."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "It normally takes a compliment to do it. It would be tactful to withdraw."

"Professor Snape says I have no tact."

Professor McGonagall tucked her arm into Hermione's. "No need to believe everything Severus tells you."

"But I am hungry," Hermione assured her earnestly.

"Ah, Hermione, my dear. Just the person," beamed Professor Flitwick. Reaching up to tuck an arm in each of theirs he swept over to the table.

"Saved," said Professor Sprout dryly.

Snape parted his hands and smiled at her. "Have at me. I offer no defence."

"Prettily said but I'm not convinced. Now, what have you...? Oh, is that how you spell it? March, my dear."

Flitwick's face lit up at the sight of his wife, as it always did, and he kissed her cheek before sitting beside Snape.

"Severus, I'm glad I've found you. I believe I've found a way around the difficulty of harmonising charm and potion. If my understanding of this passage is correct..." He produced and enlarged various parchments and books, including a Goblin dictionary so vast that even Snape found it difficult to lift it without the aid of a charm.

"No," said Professor Sprout sternly. "No work until you've all eaten and enjoyed some conversation not related to research."

"But - "

"No, March. Everyone is tired, whether they have the wit to know it or not. After we've eaten we'll adjourn to Severus' chambers to work."

"Too kind," he murmured.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "You object?"

"I wouldn't dare," he said, mildly disconcerted to realise he hadn't locked his door since the incident with the Wolfsbane. Now he thought about it, Black and Lupin had been wandering in and out of his quarters at will. It would be group hugs next.

How the fuck was he going to get back into character for the next term, never mind for when the next summons came from Voldemort?

His stomach cramping, he pushed the thought aside, as he had been doing for some days, and tried to concentrate on what Flitwick was saying.

 

Professor Sprout occupied one table, surrounded by a stack of books taken from Snape's library, ignoring the discussion taking place between Snape and Flitwick at the table behind her. Hermione was happily exploring the bookshelves. Curiosity kept drawing her back to the extensive selection of Muggle poetry and finally she admitted defeat, made herself comfortable, and began to check out her heritage - about which Snape seemed more familiar than she was. Opening a late Victorian edition of Byron she was flicking through it, admiring some beautiful line drawings, when a snatch of verse caught her eye: '...with eagle beak so curled, That nose, the hook where he suspends the world!'

"You seem to have become sidetracked," said Snape, coming silently upon her to twitch the book from her hand.

There was a short silence.

Sitting on the age-mellowed oak floorboards, Hermione glanced up at Snape's long length, waiting for the axe to fall.

"'He that has a great nose thinks everybody is talking about it.' I knew it could only be a matter of time before you got your revenge for the busybody quotation," he murmured. "Unless I'm being unduly sensitive?"

Hermione heroically resisted the lure cast but her expression betrayed her.

Snape's mouth twitched in one corner before curling into a grin made all the more attractive by the fact he tried to suppress it. "Well done, Miss Granger. More, virtue won't be your only reward. Come and let March explain what we're about."

"I'd love to," she said, automatically taking the hand he extended to assist her to her feet. "You're taking this very well. Or is this just some ruse to put me off-guard?"

This time Snape's tired face was lit by a smile he made no attempt to quench. "'I am ashes where once I was fire,'" he said gravely. "Byron again, although not wholly appropriate. You'll have to forgive 'the petrifications of a plodding brain.'."

Professor Flitwick greeted Hermione with a squeak of pleasure before giving a brief synopsis of their research.

Within five minutes Hermione was taking notes, while worrying about her phonetic spelling of the Persian, Armenian and Turkish names.

Flitwick stopped mid-sentence and turned to her. "Do you understand so far, Miss Granger?"

"March, let the child relax, " said Professor Spout, who was having difficulty deciphering a marginal note Snape had left on the last section of her article.

"Um, this is relaxing for me," said Hermione.

Professor McGonagall grinned where she was curled up in a sinfully comfortable armchair. "Severus, you've had a terrible influence on Miss Granger."

"No, I've always been a geek," said Hermione cheerfully. After six years she not only felt able to joke about it but she no longer felt the need constantly to defend or apologise for her preferences.

"Thank you for the implication," said Snape.

Hermione just grinned at him before turning her attention to Professor Flitwick. "You lost me when you started discussing the Armenian text. I don't understand the relevance of..."

Between them Flitwick and Snape applied themselves to offering a lucid explanation and from then on paid her the compliment of treating her as an equal in their discussion.

Her eyes alight with excitement, Hermione felt giddy with the heady pleasure which came from being stretched to her mental limits and encouraged to soar beyond them. It occurred to her how much she would be limiting herself by studying medicine. There were so many enticing fields of study...

Refocusing to find Snape scowling at her, she nodded as if he had spoken and applied herself to what Professor Flitwick was saying.

 

"...most grateful for what you've done already but this won't take long," said Professor Sprout briskly. "Just half a dozen - perhaps a dozen - roots so I can bring them on in the pool I made - "

Lupin coughed in a pointed fashion, his eyes warm with amused affection.

"That you and Sirius made," she corrected cheerfully.

"But that means diving into the deepest part of the lake where the water's more disgusting than ever." Snape's large nose twitched fastidiously. "Can't he do it?" He gestured to Black.

"No. Now, don't forget, knife and trowel only. No magic. These are fragile plants - something you remembered all too rarely in your seven years of Herbology. And you can stop sniggering, Sirius. It would be difficult to find anyone more cack-handed than you where plants are concerned. While Remus has a wonderfully delicate touch - " Professor Sprout paused to give Black a look of chilly displeasure. "Are you proposing to share that remark with us all - Miss Granger included? No, I thought not. As I was saying, Remus can't swim."

Reduced to the status of a smutty third year in seconds flat, Black looked chastened and fell silent.

Snape stood on one leg to pull off a boot. "If that bloody squid comes anywhere near me again, I swear I won't be responsible for my actions."

There was no breeze at all, the heat of the afternoon pressing down on them. The surface of the lake had an almost oily sheen on the mirror-like surface, the water an unappealing greenish-brown.

"The water's a fair depth out in the centre. Safer if two go," said Black, unfastening his shirt to reveal a muscular torso covered in silky-looking black hair.

"There now," beamed Professor Sprout, as if the notion had never occurred to her, "won't that be nice."

"I presume that's a rhetorical question," said Snape, his bare toes curling in the mud as he shrugged out of his shirt. The hollows between his ribs were accentuated as he reached back to refasten his plait, drawing attention to the shock of hair at armpit and the dusting between his pectoral muscles. A narrow line of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his black trousers.

It was the first time Hermione had ever found a man's belly button sexy.

"While we can row out there, we'll need Gillyweed," continued Snape, his long fingers flicking over the buttons of his fly. His swimming shorts were black and unrevealing, although his legs were a better shape than she had been expecting, unlike Black, who was slightly bow-legged..

"Here," puffed Madam Hooch as she ran over to them. "Ceres has been growing it but forgot to bring it with her." Greyish-green strands of what could have been rats' tails drooped through her fingers.

"How fortuitous, there's enough for two." Snape gave Professor Sprout a hard stare.

"Forward thinking. Something we're always trying to teach our pupils," she said blandly as she divided it between Snape and Black.

Both shuddered at the smell.

"Don't be such babies. You know there's no taste to it," she said bracingly. "Anyway, it's not that bad."

United in a moment of fellow feeling, Snape and Black shared a glance of total accord.

Standing beside the boat, Snape toed the water with a bare foot. "You do realise a giant squid has been peeing in this - and worse - for the last five decades. We could catch some disgusting disease."

"That's all right, I'll cure you," called Madam Pomfrey, as she, Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall made themselves comfortable beside Hermione on the steep side of the grassy bank.

"This isn't a spectator sport," said Snape, his fists on his narrow hips as he glared down his nose at them.

"No dear," soothed Professor Sprout, careful to avoid her companions' gazes. "As for the squid, he was here when I arrived at Hogwarts as a young - well, youngish, girl. I must have been close to your age," she added fondly.

"You've lived here all that time?" asked Lupin. Squinting in the sunlight, he looked relaxed - almost happy.

"Eighty-six years," said Professor Sprout, after a pause to work it out. "March arrived four months later. We were married within the year."

"You've been together eighty-five years," exclaimed Madam Hooch.

"It doesn't seem that long - most of the time," Professor Sprout added realistically. "What?" she added, upon finding all three men staring at her.

"I can't imagine what it must be like to spend all that time with just one person," said Black. "That is - "

Lupin nudged him with his elbow, and for a wonder Black took the hint.

"Crass sentimentality," sniffed Snape, but he clambered into the boat without any further complaint.

"I'll row," said Black, climbing in after him.

"You'll sit over there and keep still," Snape told him, settling on the opposite seat. Before he could collect up the oars the small boat set off smoothly over the water.

"Show off," accused Black, jealous of Snape's ability to perform wandless magic.

"No, that's me," said Professor McGonagall with a cheery wave of her wand.

"They'll kill each other," muttered Lupin worriedly.

"Nonsense." Professor Sprout's gaze was on the far distance rather than the two men in the centre of the lake unenthusiastically chewing Gillyweed. "Although I might have agreed with you a few months ago. It's been a healing summer. That scare over the Wolfsbane was a blessing in disguise," she added frankly.

Lupin gave her an appalled look, then slowly nodded. "Perhaps. Although I doubt if Severus sees it that way."

"I wouldn't be so sure. It's given you both a better understanding of one another."

"For more reasons than one," agreed Lupin. "If nothing else, it's taught me never to take risks about..." It was a moment before he could go on. "I'm more careful now. I think Severus is coming to trust us a little more. Don't you?" he added, when she failed to reply immediately.

"I'm sorry, dear. I was just wishing I could give Voldemort a piece of my mind for ruining so many young lives. Yes, I do. Severus has never had friends of his own age - male friends, that is. This summer it's as if... He doesn't expect to live, Remus." She resolutely firmed her quivering chin.

Lupin put his arm around her. "I know. But he's finding more reasons to want to and in my experience when Severus wants to do something he usually finds a way. He's very like Harry in that respect."

"Only not so selfish. Not now, anyway."

"I wish Harry could have spared Sirius a thought this summer," said Lupin.

"He's seventeen. From what I gather he's had a miserable childhood to date. Not to mention the fact he's faced Voldemort - "

"I know, I know," sighed Lupin. "It never stops, does it."

"I would have said not, but I confess, I feel more hopeful now than I did at the beginning of the holidays."

"Truly? You think we can win?" Lupin turned to look at her and under the honesty of his grey eyes Professor Sprout's gaze dropped.

"I wouldn't go that far. We're so few. And hampered by the Ministry. If we survive Voldemort I'm going to ensure that the wizard community sits up and takes responsibility for itself - and those who are supposed to run it," she added, a harder edge to her voice, before she raised it in exasperation. "What do they think they're doing? Severus, stop swearing. We can hear you from over here. You'll be wetter still in a minute. Sirius, I'll have a word with you when you get back. Sometimes I wonder if any of you have grown up," she added crossly to Lupin, before she patted him on the arm. "Now, if you'd like to make yourself useful..."

 

A squabble between Black and Snape, combined with Professor McGonagall losing concentration while she was controlling the boat, resulted in it hitting the muddy bank at some speed just as Snape and Black both raised their wands to try and soften the impact of their landing. The combination of mishaps wedged the prow deep in the bank. Producing two shovels, Professor Sprout left them to dig the boat out while she headed off to transplant the lilies.

The four witches sat watching with undisguised enjoyment as the two men sweated and swore and got dirtier and dirtier while Lupin, keeping a prudent distance, offered unhelpful instructions.

"If they used magic to divert some of the lake water they could dissolve the earth, which looks rock-hard, and turn it into mud," said Hermione, her gaze on the muscles sliding under the thin-fleshed skin of Snape's naked torso. Nut-brown and gleaming with sweat, he had straightened to wipe his forehead, while offering his opinion of Black's intellect, parentage and muscle-power.

"True, but they're too busy competing and exuding testosterone to be capable of rational thought," said Professor McGonagall prosaically. "Besides, I've no objection to watching three moderately attractive young men working hard."

"Remus is looking so much healthier," remarked Madam Pomfrey, as she tossed an apricot stone into the lake. "I do believe he's finally managed to put on some weight. Happiness suits him."

"Long may it continue," said Madam Hooch, breaking open a stone to chew the kernel.

"Sirius is looking less strained. I do believe he's finally starting to live in the present," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Having Dementors drain your memories would make anyone desperate to recapture the past," remarked Professor McGonagall. "He's regaining something of his looks. He was always one of the most beautiful boys."

"And then there's Severus." Madam Hooch licked her juice-sticky fingers in a voluptuous manner.

"I thought we were going to lose him," said Professor McGonagall bleakly. "But he's looking much better now. Though no one's ever going to accuse him of good looks, are they? Fit enough, I grant you, but physically unremarkable."

Her knees tucked up to her chest, Hermione's grip on her shins tightened. It took some effort of will not to say something and she wondered why Professor McGonagall couldn't see what was in front of her nose: the sweep of those ridiculously long eyelashes; the spiked tongue and formidable mind; the way the right side of his mouth would twitch when he was trying not to betray his inconvenient sense of amusement; the bumpy bridge of his nose and the all-too-often impenetrable eyes; the angles and convexities of the planes of his face, breadth of shoulder, line of neck and jaw and that really spectacular backside.

Unremarkable?

"Have some gooseberry wine, dear. You're looking flushed," said Madam Pomfrey. "What were you thinking about just now?"

Hermione studied the view in front of her, the three men bent over the boat as they prepared to try and jiggle it free. It occurred to her that if they'd been Ron, Harry and Dean she would have said they were showing off. "Just something I read," she said absently. "'His behind impels the astonished nightingales to sing.'"

As if to confirm her suspicions that the men had been listening, they straightened as one and turned to glared at her, while Professor McGonagall spluttered into her glass.

"Ah, but how to choose?" said Madam Hooch, lazily mischief-making.

"Oh, Oliver Wood gets my vote," said Hermione, giving Snape a bland look before she sipped her drink.

Lupin was shaking his head and grinning at something Black had murmured, while Snape's expression further soured.

Professor McGonagall gave her an approving pat. "Mine, too. Though I'll thank you not to repeat that indiscretion."

"Passable, but Sebastian - " began Madam Hooch.

"In Ravenclaw? I know," agreed Hermione, just before they both grinned.

***

 

Humming contentedly to herself, Professor Sprout cut through the orchard to take advantage of the shade offered there. She froze when she came upon Snape sprawled limply on the sun-burnt grass, then relaxed upon realising he was simply dozing.

As if to contradict her he opened one eye. "Did you want me?"

"No. Go back to sleep. I didn't intend to disturb you."

Snape opened his second eye and propped himself up on one elbow. "Do I smell figs?"

"Indeed you do. I'm taking them in for March. He, Freyja and Miss Granger have been working all day. She's a nice child," Professor Sprout added inconsequentially.

"How very Hufflepuff of you."

"Not a good way to win yourself any figs," Professor Sprout pointed out.

Snape simply sat up and held out his hands. He looked drugged from the sun and the sleepy, sticky afternoon heat. His feet bare, he wore only black trousers and a loose-fitting white lawn shirt with complicated pleating down the front.

Depositing half a dozen plump brown figs in his cupped palms, Professor Sprout smiled down at him. "Enjoy. I know they're your favourite fruit."

He frowned. "How?"

"Observation." Patting him on the shoulder, she went on her way.

Snape was disconcerted to realise he had been under surveillance and worse, that he didn't resent the fact. Distracted by the ripe, heady scent of the fruit, he resettled himself and glanced up to see Hermione hovering a few feet away.

"Do you like figs?" he asked abruptly.

"Uh, yes."

"Then share these with me. They were a present from Ceres."

He looked rumpled, half-asleep and more approachable than she could ever remember seeing him. But even at his most casual his clothes were beautifully tailored, with small, exquisite details such as the embroidered serpents coiling around each button-hole. This summer, she had come to know a little of the man behind the mask, had seen him revel in intellectual pursuits, take delight in teaching, smile, enjoy food, sex, the sun...

Who would have thought the buttoned-up bat of the dungeons would turn out to be a hedonist? It belatedly occurred to her that he must hate his half-life during term-time, stuck in the dungeons trying to balance the roles he was required to play. It was a wonder the strain of it hadn't driven him mad - or perhaps it had, a little.

It abruptly occurred to her how much she was going to miss him, how difficult it was going to be to forget what she had learnt of him. More, she was going to lose someone she thought of as a friend.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked up to find him watching her, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Sorry. It must be the heat making me so slow," she lied, wishing fiercely that she had the right to touch him, to make him smile - to make him content enough to forget the memories which made his eyes so bleak at times.

"And the fact you've been working so hard," he said. "Here." As he shared out the fruit she was struck again by the beauty of his hands.

She settled on the grass beside him without attempt to eat the figs. As she watched he broke one open and brought it to his mouth, sucking at the honey-sweet flesh. Staring like one mesmerised at his parted mouth and hollowing cheeks she shuddered where she sat, feeling the internal contractions as if it was his mouth sucking on her parted flesh, his tongue stabbing -

Helpless with longing, she couldn't have moved if her life depended on it.

"Have you not eaten figs before? They're simple enough to prepare." Taking up another fruit, Snape used his thumbs to split open the plump fruit for her, exposing the moist, soft flesh inside. "Eat," he murmured, holding it out to her.

Making no attempt to take it from him, Hermione caught back her hair and bent to feed from his hand. Intoxicated by the heady scent of ripe fig and the man holding it, she sucked the sweetness into her mouth, once, then again. A succulent morsel of the purple-brown flesh slipped onto the side of his hand and she captured it with a swipe of her tongue.

His hand shook.

It took her a few seconds to process what she had seen. When she slowly raised her head her heavy-lidded gaze was caught and trapped in the velvety blackness of his eyes. Without being aware of it she eased into the curve of his body, her hand sliding up to his shoulder, the fingers of her other hand sinking into the untidy luxuriance of his hair, her mouth poised a breath away from his.

For one terrible moment his lips thinned, shutting her out.

"Please," she whispered, hardly aware that she was speaking.

The muscles of his face shifted infinitesimally and she glimpsed his answering hunger in the instant before their mouths met, bodies melding into one another.

Then there was only the wet and warm of his mouth and those wonderful hands moulding her to him.


	18. Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

 

Sprawled on the sun-bleached grass, lost to deepening moist-mouthed kisses, Snape's body responded to Hermione's, hard where she was yielding, controlled where she was greedy for sensation. Lost to the heady pleasure of feeling all that power surrender to her, Hermione's weight shifted over his now supine body; lust ripped through her the first time his erection brushed her inner thigh through the thin fabric of her dress. One large hand continued to caress her back from her shoulders to the curve of her bottom, the thumb of the other teasing the achingly erect nipple of her right breast as his tongue stroked hers.

Cocooned in sensation, her senses spinning, she felt drunk on him, could have fed on him forever, drowning in physical sensation. Their mouths still hungrily joined, she covered him with her hand, learning his shape and sensitivity. His pelvis rose involuntarily, the hands on her tightening before his mouth was wrenched from hers. Ignoring her inarticulate sound of protest hard hands lifted her from him and to her feet in a display of strength that would have been disconcerting at any other time. Stumbling, she managed to right herself and only realised her eyes had been closed when she opened them, squinting into the fierce glare of the sun. The beat of her pulse was centred between her shaking legs so that thought was impossible, the clamour of her senses such that -

Then she saw Snape's expression. The loathing on his face was worse than a blow would have been and she flinched, her empty hands curled tight, arms folding across her aching breasts in a vain attempt to protect herself.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, denying what she already knew.

"That was a mistake. It won't happen again." His voice was corn-crake harsh. He wanted only to disappear, besieged by a mixture of lust, rage, mortification and a yearning for what he was never going to have. His breathing harsh, he willed blood back into his brain.

The wounded sound which escaped her made him savage. Make it crude and ugly enough and she would forget any romantic notions she might be harbouring.

"Is the idea that I could have feelings for you so terrible?" she cried.

"Don't attempt to deceive yourself. Overwhelming as it may seem, all you're experiencing is lust. Take deep breaths, it will pass. Quickly enough for you to be grateful you aren't being fucked up against a tree by your Potions master. Of course, if you're really that hot for it I'll be only too happy to oblige," he added with flat-voiced brutality, struggling to concentrate against the throb of his stubbornly persistent arousal. "At my age sex with someone relatively fresh is hard to come by. It won't take above a couple of minutes. Then a quick Obliviate and we're back to normal. What do you say? I know you want it, I can smell you from here." As he savaged her he became increasingly aware of the cloying scent of the plums where they lay around the base of the trees; the air was thick with the stink of rotting fruit and the noise of wasps drunk on the fermenting flesh.

He could have withstood tears and recriminations, even hysterics or protestations about True Love but she just stood there, staring at him from honey-brown eyes; the betrayal in them flayed away his protective layers. His hands were shaking but there was nowhere to put them, nowhere to hide. During the holidays she had moved from an often irritating pupil to a girl-woman whose company he had enjoyed to the point where he'd found excuses to seek her out. She had such a hunger to learn, a mind that constantly entertained and challenged his, an acidic sense of humour on the rare occasions when she allowed it free rein, a sometimes shrewish tongue, and a brave and loving heart.

And she was seventeen years old. He'd made sexual advances to a seventeen year old pupil and his chief regret was still the fact that he'd stopped when he had.

"I'll take that for a 'no' then. Pity." Those spectacular breasts and the lingering scent of her arousal were doing little to help his concentration; her devastated expression had already disposed of his self-respect. All the colour had drained from her face, leaving the few, faint freckles she had acquired stark over the thin-fleshed bridge of her nose. "In that case I see no reason for us to meet other than in the classroom. Do you understand?" he demanded, impatient with her passivity. The heat was ferocious; he was slick with the sweat which was making his shirt cling to him. Yet she was shivering.

"No," said Hermione, on her second attempt at speech. "I thought you liked me. That despite everything we were friends."

"I don't know why. Did you imagine you could have anything to interest me - beyond the obvious?" His hands moved in a descriptive arc, describing the area from her breasts to her pudenda and back again.

She flinched and then, because she couldn't bear to hear what he might say next, she walked away as fast as her shaking legs would carry her, narrowly avoiding collision with a tree because her vision was so blurred by tears.

 

Propped against the gnarled trunk of an elderly plum tree, it was some time before Snape became aware that he was not alone. Raising his head he found Flitwick standing beside him. Tensing, Snape made no attempt to retreat, having already accepted that he had precipitated a disastrous scene from which there could be no escape until all the repercussions had been dealt with.

"You know, don't you," he said, his voice dulled by emotional upheaval.

"I saw what happened. I was painting in an apple tree at the top of the orchard."

"You didn't intervene."

"There was no need. I had no doubt that you could be trusted to do the right thing."

"The right thing?" Snape's tone was scathing. "I kissed a seventeen year old girl - a pupil - and then blamed her for my loss of control." His head drooping again, he ran his long fingers through his hair. "I didn't see this coming," he added, his voice muffled.

"Obviously. There are times when there is some advantage to being an onlooker."

After a moment Snape lifted his head, humiliation stark on his face. All prickles again, he glared at the older wizard, daring him to intrude on this most private of discoveries. "You mean everyone but me knew that I - ? Fuck."

"Not, I think, Sirius or Freyja," offered Flitwick conscientiously.

"Fuck," repeated Snape without heat. He toed a rot-speckled plum with a bare foot, wondering without much interest, what had become of his boots. Two wasps launched into the air but he resisted the impulse to blast them out of existence. Tempting as it might be, it wasn't a form of problem-solving that Albus advocated. He willed himself to shed the taste of her mouth and the memory of her body under his hands but his self-control in tatters nothing seemed to work as it should, least of all his ability to think. He felt nakedly exposed and knew it was only going to get worse. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"You're not going to give me any advice, are you," he recognised.

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Flitwick. His expression serene, his eyes were warm, kindness and understanding shining from them.

Snape's mouth twisted. "If you intended to make an exception, now would be a good time." It was the closest he could come to a plea for help.

It was the first Flitwick had heard Snape make in all the years he had known him. "I would offer one observation." He hesitated.

Snape was attempting to neaten his appearance. It was only when he tried to refasten his shirt that he discovered how many of the buttons were missing and he sternly repressed the memory of how that had occurred. "I would welcome it," he said, pride stripped from him. "I spurned her with the ugliest of - " He stopped dead, his mouth compressing, as if wary of what else might escape. "I've no experience of - I don't know what to do." Desperation and humiliation echoed in every bitten off word.

"While your main concern is Hermione's well-being I see no need for anyone else to intervene. I was merely about to observe that while you are hard on others, you are hardest on yourself. Ceres and I hold you in great affection but we're not blind to your faults. I just wish that sometimes you were capable of recognising the many splendid qualities you possess."

"Like seducing a seventeen year old pupil, who fancies herself in love with me?" But his sneer was a poor thing.

"All the self-castigation in the world won't resolve the problem. That is for you to do."

"Do you think I don't know that? I have to speak to her, to try and - I hurt her, March. And I have no idea how to put that right."

"You could simply avoid her," said Flitwick prosaically. "Term starts in six days. Outside the Potions classroom you need have no contact with her."

Snape exhaled unsteadily. "I can think of nothing I'd rather do but... This is my fault. I owe her something better than that. You didn't see the expression in her eyes after - It's just..." His hands parted in a gesture eloquent of helplessness. "I don't have the slightest idea how to undo the damage I've done, while making it clear that - "

Flitwick batted away a sullen wasp. "If I have learnt anything in my years of marriage it's that a simple apology from the heart works wonders. I have always considered Hermione to be mature beyond her chronological age. Possibly as a result of being prepared at the age of eleven to take on an active role in working to defeat Voldemort, alongside Harry and Ron."

"As if they understood the gravity of what they faced," dismissed Snape irritably.

"I know you dislike Harry but you do the boy an injustice. He understands all too well. As do Hermione, and I think, Ron Weasley. It doesn't stop them from being 'normal' teenagers in other respects, of course. But then girls always mature faster than boys. In Hermione's case that may be due in part because during her formative years she spent so much time socialising with adults. As the only, much-loved child - "

Snape tensed. "Are you implying that I'm a father substitute?"

"Certainly not," said Flitwick, careful to hide his amusement when Snape failed to disguise his relief. "It never occurred to me that Hermione seeks that from you."

"Just my balls on a plate, after today."

"She has never struck me as a vindictive girl."

"Let's hope Minerva and Poppy take the same enlightened view when I tell them what I've done," said Snape dryly. "But first I must find Hermione."

"I saw her enter Hogwarts through the main door. I imagine she's taken refuge in her quarters."

Snape nodded and headed off.

"You'll need your boots," Flitwick called after him.

Snape turned, glanced down and his expression stony, returned for them. "I'm sure humility is a desirable quality in a Slytherin but right now - "

There was a crack and a flash of power as a decaying branch was blasted into oblivion.

Flitwick gave Snape a thoughtful look as the younger wizard balanced on one foot to pull on his second boot. "Did that help?"

"What do you think? I've only just got used to being able to look myself in the face and - "

"No, spare the rest of the tree. It might be nearly sixty but it still has a few years of productive life left to it."

Snape's wand hand fell to his side. His face tight with temper, the sinews and muscles were in clear evidence. "Don't fucking humour me, March. Damn it, I - " He stopped, controlled his breathing and finally met Flitwick's wise eyes. "I apologise," he said stiffly, although his jaw was so rigid that it made it difficult to understand what he was saying.

Flitwick gave a nod of satisfaction.

Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You were deliberately provoking me? Do you mind telling me why?" The request was delivered as a command.

"I needed to be certain Miss Granger wouldn't be subjected to a further demonstration of your temper," said Flitwick simply.

That stopped Snape in his tracks.

"Yes," he conceded after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "A wise precaution. I'll do my best," he added.

Flitwick patted him on the arm. "You always do. Now, go."

Watching Snape head through the gate that led to the walled garden, Flitwick wandered back up through the orchard to the tree where his wife was still perched in the higher branches, their artists' materials safely secured with a Binding Charm.

"I suppose it's too much to hope you weren't using a charm to listen to us," he said with resignation.

"Oh, please. Of course I was. And if you hadn't been here I would have listened to whatever it was he said to Hermione. Though I can guess," she added compassionately. "Help me down, would you. Your levitation skills far outstrip mine."

"Only because you will insist on closing your eyes at the precise moment fine judgement is called for."

"Yes, yes. Just do it, would you."

"There, safely down." Even after all their years together Flitwick tried to tidy his wife's errant hair, which stubbornly ignored their joint effects at neatness. "I needn't tell you that what we overheard is not a subject for discussion - even with Poppy."

"Of course you don't!" Professor Sprout's indignant tone softened. "Those poor children."

"You think I should speak with Miss Granger?" Flitwick looked uneasy at the prospect.

"No. Leave that to Severus for now. I have high hopes for that boy. This the first time I've ever heard him worrying about someone else's emotional needs."

"Now you are being unfair. He has been coping with those Albus imposes on him for years. Though I admit that today... I fear for him, Ceres. He has burdens enough without adding the additional complication of falling in love with a pupil."

Professor Sprout raised her already arched eyebrows. "Love? Severus, in love? Are you sure?"

Flitwick gave her a quizzical look. "I think I can still recognise the emotion when I meet it." Raising his wife's grubby hand to his mouth, he saluted the inside of her wrist. "But then today I find I'm not feeling my age."

Her thumb caressed his cheek. "Really, March," she said again, but this time her tone was indulgent.

 

Opening the door to her quarters Hermione resisted the urge to slam it shut when she saw who stood there, looking cold as a corpse and about as welcome.

"I should like to speak with you," said Snape, at his most formal.

"You seem to be doing so," pointed out Hermione, at her most Snape-like.

He resisted the urge to fidget, wondering if he had imagined the welcome which had just lit her face. "May I come in?"

"I'd rather you didn't." She was surprised by the steadiness of her voice.

There was a moment, before he thought to control it, when his expression was nakedly revealing. It didn't give her the satisfaction she expected.

"First, I need to apologise for the crudity of what I said to you."

"Because that makes everything fine, of course."

Snape's mouth compressed. "How could it? But it's all I have to offer." Her face tightened but not quickly enough to hide the tremor to her jaw. He studied the ground. "I have been considering what to say to you. First, I take full responsibility for what occurred and apologise without reservation. I can assure you it won't happen again."

"But I want it to," she burst out, before the humiliating truth sank in. "It isn't your fault. I kissed you," she added in a deadened voice.

"And I responded, in abuse of the trust placed in me as a teacher at Hogwarts. Allow me to take responsibility for my actions. Secondly, I do have more experience of...life...than you. Physical chemistry, no matter how intense, is fleeting. Don't attempt to cling to it, or to give it undue importance."

A slow burning anger began to dispel her misery. "Well at least you haven't. Don't tell me, it's different for men. Fast to arouse, faster to forget any little inconvenience." She could have killed him for the pity in his eyes.

"There is nothing beyond transient physical sensation - for either of us. As you pointed out, men are fast to arouse - 'penis erectus non conscientious'," he added bluntly.

"That's even better than the alibi of Imperius used by Death Eaters," said Hermione. His mouth thinned but he made no attempt to defend himself. "When did you become an expert in my feelings?"

"When it became apparent you imagined..." Snape took an audible breath. "...when you appeared to imagine you had a crush on me. I'm not disparaging your feelings, just pointing out that, despite my term-time appearance, it isn't unheard of for a pupil to imagine they have formed a relationship - of one kind or another - with me. They're mistaken."

"Ah, so you've done this before." At any other time Hermione would have enjoyed seeing Snape so disconcerted. He made a belated recovery.

"Never. Although you have only my word for that."

"Then what made you succumb to my inappropriate advances?"

"At the risk of sounding crude, propinquity," he said simply. She flinched. "We've been living on terms of some intimacy this summer. Despite rumours to the contrary, I'm a man as well as a school-master. These last few weeks the former prevailed over the latter. You should be aware that my behaviour has been far from typical - and I'm not just referring to this afternoon. We formed a measure of comradeship that is unrealistic and unsustainable. That, too, must end now. Term starts in six days. I must resume my usual role. Difficult enough after my weeks of indulgence, impossible without your cooperation."

"I have no intention of discussing this summer with anyone," Hermione said, hotly offended by the implication. He disarmed her in a heartbeat; the fact it was so obviously unstudied made it all the more effective.

"It never occurred to me that you would. I meant only that... You're going to hate me because I'm going to see to it that you do. There will be no more 'chats' over a meal, borrowing my books, or discussion on topics outside the scope of the syllabus. No contact outside the classroom and as little as possible within it."

"I had no idea I was such a siren."

Cursing his own ineptitude, Snape gave her a crushing look, trying not to notice that she had obviously been crying; her face still had a splotched, pinched look. "Hardly. What I was attempting to convey, in a way I hoped would avoid giving offence, is that I can't afford the distraction of worrying if you fancy yourself 'in love' and decide to confide in Potter, who will then blow my cover sky-high before taking steps against the man he's hated since he was eleven. There's more at stake here than your pride. Or mine," he added as an afterthought. "Then there's the fact I'm a Death Eater. While the romantic allure of the rapist and/or murderer has always escaped me, there are those for whom my reputation as a Death Eater would be inducement enough to have sex with me."

"I bow to your greater experience on that one." But when he flinched she had to resist the urge to reach out to him.

"I see you begin to understand," he said colourlessly.

She wondered how she could have ever thought his eyes expressionless. But it had been a mistake to lash out; hurting him only rebounded back onto her and - apart from that split second, when she had wanted to kill him with her bare hands and her teeth - she didn't want to see him hurt more than he had been already. But she could take no more.

"I'd like you to leave now," she said.

"As you wish." But he stayed where he was. "Will you be all right?"

Stony-faced, she stared him down, noting that his supposed concern hadn't been urgent enough to stop him from changing his clothes to an outfit more reminiscent of the classroom. His starkly drawn-back hair served only to throw his strong-boned face into harsh relief.

"That was a foolish question," he accepted, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual guards down, he looked far younger and oddly uncertain for a man normally so definite in word and deed. "If you would prefer to eradicate the memories - ?" He fell silent when she shuddered. "No, I thought not. But I had to be sure."

"I'd like you to leave," she repeated. Despite herself, her voice cracked on the last word.

A muscle leaping in his jaw, Snape slowly exhaled. "Of course."

He had barely stepped back from the threshold before the door closed. For a moment he stayed where he was, his fingertips air-brushing the age-blackened oak, before he straightened his shoulders and stalked off in the direction of Dumbledore's study.

 

Exhausted by the stresses of the day, Hermione almost didn't reply to the knock on her door; she wished she hadn't when she saw Dumbledore standing there, Madam Pomfrey at his shoulder.

"We wonder if we might have a word with you," Madam Pomfrey said with brisk purpose.

Under no illusions about what must be behind their visit, Hermione gave a reluctant nod and stepped out of their way before the truth sank home like a knife. He had told them himself. Without a thought to what it would mean to her, he had violated her privacy and told them.

"He had no right to go to you," she said to Dumbledore in a hard voice.

He followed her thought processes without seeming difficulty. "In his capacity as a man, no, he didn't. But as your teacher he had a duty to do so. Until you finish your seventh year you are a pupil at this school. Come, sit by the fire." Chairs drew themselves up to the hearth, where a fire now burned. Selecting the seat closest to the flames Hermione leeched all the warmth she could, cold despite the heat of the day. Madam Pomfrey handed her a steaming cup of ginger tea, which Hermione began to sip without even being aware of what she was doing; she loathed ginger.

Disconcerted by what could be seen of Hermione's quarters, which were still virtually empty and so without character that it was difficult to imagine that anyone, least of all a seventeen year old girl, occupied them full time, Madam Pomfrey refilled Hermione's tea cup. The girl was on the verge of dehydration - probably from too much crying on a hot day - but now wasn't the time to make an issue of it.

"I am in something of a quandary," said Dumbledore, his quiet voice falling into the silence. "In the normal course of events Professor Snape would immediately have been dismissed without references for what he has done to you. Well, of course. Would you expect less from a Muggle school where a teacher made sexual advances to a pupil?" he demanded, when Hermione's lips parted in instinctive protest.

"No, but - "

"But nothing, Hermione," said Madam Pomfrey. "Parents entrust us with their children. How do you imagine they - how do you imagine your parents would react to the knowledge that a teacher had responded to a sexual advance from any pupil, let alone from you? "

Able to imagine the reaction of her parents only too clearly, Hermione studied her rigidly inter-locked fingers. "Is it my age? Because I'll be eighteen in three weeks. Nineteen if you count my year with the time turner."

"That's just chronology. Emotional maturity depends on more than that - life experience, for one," said Dumbledore, his voice kinder than she could ever remember hearing it. She blinked furiously: she was not going to cry - unless it was from rage. "My dear, Severus is twenty years your senior, your teacher and a - "

"- Death Eater. I know. He told me. More than once. What's your quandary?" Hermione asked Dumbledore abruptly.

"These are not normal circumstances. Losing the services of Professor Snape would compromise our fight against Voldemort but to retain him on staff places you at risk."

"That's absurd! He would never - "

"It isn't Severus who concerns me. I was talking about you," said Dumbledore. "You must not attempt to communicate with him - in any way - outside the usual teacher/pupil relationship, and then as little as possible. Do you understand? It's too dangerous."

It was the final indignity. They thought she was in the throes of a schoolgirl crush. Although quite how they'd come to that conclusion when -

Abruptly she remembered Professor Sprout's warning of several weeks ago to steer clear of dark and brooding wizards and Professor McGonagall's comment that wizards rarely tackled difficult emotional issues face to face. How could they have known before she had? Although if this was love the poets could keep it. Not that she had anything with which to compare it, except books. And suddenly they didn't seem as reliable as they once had.

"Do you understand, Miss Granger?" pursued Dumbledore. He looked stern and unfamiliar.

"I won't do anything to compromise the fight against Voldemort," she said, bitter at seeing her feelings dismissed out of hand.

Except by Severus, who had come to apologise. If she felt this humiliated she could only imagine what he must be feeling and be glad his temper would have a chance to cool before school began.

Best not think about the implications behind his apology, or to keep remembering the feeling of his mouth on hers. That controlled certainty of purpose had been something new, as had the body under hers. While lean, it had unmistakably been that of a man, not a boy - broader, stronger, more certain...

Oh, Merlin...

Maybe he'd been right. Maybe it was only lust. How could you tell?

"We would like you to be in no doubt about one thing," said Madam Pomfrey, the usual briskness missing from her voice. "If we thought for one moment that Severus couldn't be trusted to behave in an appropriate manner with you - or any other pupil - he would not be teaching, whatever his role in the fight against Voldemort."

Given Dumbledore's habit of letting Harry run free, risking his life time after time, Hermione wasn't convinced that convenience wouldn't have continued to prevail but she went along with the fiction and nodded her understanding.

"In some respects Harry is a remarkable boy, in others he is wonderfully ordinary," said Dumbledore. "While he must face Voldemort, I would never permit a sexual predator to have contact with children - any children."

"If you have to read my mind, couldn't you pick up on the part about me wanting to be alone," said Hermione tiredly. A moment later her cold hands were being held in a loose clasp and Dumbledore was smiling at her with such affection that it made her want to weep. It had never occurred to her that he might like her.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry. This has been a difficult day for you which I have done nothing to make any easier. You seem to be under some misapprehension. Quite apart from our other concerns, even friendship between Professor Snape and yourself would be too dangerous for you. You're already a target because of your friendship with Harry and the work you have done to fight Voldemort. Should anyone suspect any kind of a relationship between Severus and yourself you would acquire a whole new range of enemies, which neither of you can afford."

"Oh," said Hermione, feeling rather small.

He shook her hands lightly. "A natural mistake. We've asked a lot of you this summer and you've never failed us. And I shall continue to ask more of you - and of so many others. Which is small consolation right this minute, I know. Have a lemon drop. I find they aid thinking. Emotions are dreadfully complicated things. With my one hundred and forty years advantage over you, I can only say that year by year they do become less...overwhelming, although I confess it did take about one hundred years for that to happen," he added wryly. "I know how unhappy you must be feeling but there is much to be done and in my experience hard work leaves less time for feeling miserable."

He looked so concerned that Hermione produced a smile from somewhere. They meant well.

"I must go," said Dumbledore, with what sounded like regret. "I have a number of things to attend to - not least restoring Hogwarts to real time - but I leave you in Poppy's capable hands. Should you wish to speak with me, my door is always open to you. The password is 'aniseed twist'." Giving her hands a final pat, he produced some Floo powder from a capacious pocket, stepped into the fire and disappeared.

Hermione exhaled shakily and rested her head against the back of her chair. Emotionally battered, she knew sleep would be beyond her despite her emotional exhaustion.

"Drink this, my dear," said Madam Pomfrey. "It's a mild pick-me-up and sedative in one. I made it myself," she added, when Hermione just stared at it the small phial. "And I know it works because Severus agreed to test it for me. Grudgingly."

Torn between laughter and tears, Hermione opted for the former and managed another shaky smile before drinking down the potion.

"Well done," said Madam Pomfrey and while her voice was brisk her vivid eyes were warm with affection. "Now, isn't it about time you made this place more homelike? The current lack of decor is enough to depress anyone. While they're far from new, there are some very comfortable chairs in the storerooms, not to mention bookcases and tables - until you acquire your own. And I can offer a couple of wall hangings which you may care to have. I won't take offence if you hate them. Now, what colour scheme did you have in mind?"

 

It had been dark outside for some time before Hermione's sitting room/study was complete and if Madam Pomfrey noticed that it bore a strong resemblance to a shabbier version of Snape's library she made no comment. The strain on Hermione's face had eased and she seemed genuinely pleased with the work they - and the house elves - had done. The eclectic mix of styles worked, giving a welcoming, homely feel to what had been a barren space.

Hermione held out a pile of books, which she had reduced in size. "These belong to Professor Snape. I wonder if you would - ?"

"Of course. I'll have a word with Madam Pince. I think it's time you had access to the Restricted Section. I know I can rely on you to use such knowledge wisely. The final meeting of the Inner Circle takes places tomorrow morning after breakfast. I'll see you there. Try not to worry about him, he is surrounded by friends - whether he wants them or not," she added dryly.

"Then why did the headmaster insist on removing Professor Snape as signatory for the contract between us?" burst out Hermione.

"Because in the circumstances it was inappropriate that he should remain in that position of trust. Most people would be honoured to have Albus Dumbledore stand signatory for them," added Madam Pomfrey lightly.

Hermione's expression was so reminiscent of the look her youngest daughter used to give her when she had said something particularly stupid that it was all Madam Pomfrey could do not to smile. Instead, she gave Hermione a quick, unsentimental kiss on the cheek and went off to bed.

Curled on the window seat, wrapped in a light quilt, with Crookshanks warming her lap, Hermione stared in the direction she knew Serpens Tower to be, although there was nothing visible to the naked eye.

 

Sluggish from lack of sleep and misery Hermione took some time to answer the loud knock at her door. Lupin and Black proving impervious to hints, she accepted that her intention of skipping breakfast was doomed. Seemingly intent on working his way through Snape's extensive Potions library in the fastest possible time, Black good-naturedly pushed Lupin ahead and engaged her in a discussion on some problems he was having understanding the complexities of the humble lacewing. While one part of Hermione's brain knew and appreciated what he was doing in providing a distraction, particularly when it was obvious he had no idea for what, she couldn't resist the fascination of the discussion, not least because Black had already outstripped her own knowledge.

"You must ask Severus if you can borrow - " began Black.

"Perhaps in the next holidays," cut in Lupin. "Miss Granger is going to have work in plenty to keep her busy this term, not least from me. And with Severus' library at your disposal you won't lack mental stimulation either," he said to Black. "Have you heard what Severus has proposed?" he added to Hermione.

She shook her head, trying not to resent the casual way in which he had referred to her exclusion.

"He intends to live and work in the dungeons this term and he's offered Serpens Tower to us. Because the tower is screened it means Sirius won't have to spend too much of every day in his animagus form - and he can work. He might even be able to see Harry occasionally."

Hermione stared at him. "He's given you free rein of his home," she said blankly.

"Late last night. Isn't it wonderful? Amazing generosity."

Black visibly swallowed an insult and mumbled something non-committal.

"Though how Severus can bear to live in the dungeons when he doesn't need to - " mused Lupin.

Hair shirt time, recognised Hermione crossly.

Going through the door Lupin was holding back for her she was disconcerted by a chorus of greetings and belatedly appreciated that they had reached the Great Hall. Acknowledging everyone, she was half-relieved, half-disappointed that Snape was absent. Sipping her first cup of coffee she noticed a new face at the table: male, in his forties, tanned, yellow hair, vivid blue eyes and good-looking enough to give Black, with whom he was in animated conversation, a run for his money.

"Miss Granger," the stranger said, looking amused when he caught her staring at him.

Caught mid-sip, Hermione was in grave danger of spraying coffee across the table.

"Filch!" she squeaked, when she had the breath to spare. "Mr Filch, I mean," she added, trying to collect her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, my dear. You're party to so many of our secrets we forgot you didn't know this one," said Dumbledore. "Yes, this is Argus Filch. As must be obvious he, too, uses an Appearance Detracting Charm."

"Yes," she said faintly. It wasn't every day that a childhood Nemesis turned into a Greek god. "Sorry," she added belatedly. Feeling herself under surveillance, she discovered Mrs Norris to be a few feet away, staring at her. "At least she's still the same," she said, making a feeble recovery.

Filch's smile froze. "Yes," he said stiffly.

McGonagall patted him on the shoulder just as Snape entered the room.

"Argus. Leaving it to the last minute again?"

"You don't change, I see," Filch retorted.

Except Severus had, Hermione noted painfully. The clothing was dark and unflattering and what could be seen of his expression between the curtains of lank hair was one of sour irritation. She stared fixedly at her bowl of Rice Krispies but had to set her spoon down when it began to vibrate against the dish.

"Miss Granger, should you need to get a message to any of us you may communicate through Argus, whom you can trust implicitly," Dumbledore said.

Careful not to glance in Snape's direction Hermione nodded self-consciously before smiling at Filch as she tried to excise memories of the dour man who always seemed to appear when he was least wanted.

"Um, can Harry and Ron know?" she thought to ask.

"A good point," conceded Dumbledore. "Argus?"

"As always, I'll be guided by you, headmaster."

"Then, I think, yes, you may tell them," decided Dumbledore.

Breakfast was a strained, edgy meal. A conversation would begin brightly enough, only to peter out a few moments later. When Professor McGonagall glared at Snape for the third time in as many minutes Hermione was afraid she had contributed to the souring of their relationship until she realised that Professor McGonagall was worried about him. Hardly surprising, in the circumstances. The ceremony to initiate the new Death Eaters would be held at two a.m. Snape would be summoned and they would learn how many had been lost to Voldemort. Presuming Snape came back, of course.

Breathing becoming problematical, Hermione concentrated on the exercises Madam Pomfrey had shown her soon after her parents' murder and slowly the panic attack ebbed away.

"I've almost completed my move down to the dungeons. You'll take my quarters there off the internal Floo network?" Snape added to Dumbledore.

"It will be inconvenient for you."

"There are more important concerns."

"Don't forget to let me have your lesson plans," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm still fine-tuning the timetables."

"My plans have been on your desk for the last week," said Snape disagreeably.

"I must get mine done," said Professor Sprout, abandoning her pretence of eating any breakfast. "Severus, is there anything I can do?" Her warm voice was soft with concern, like the voice of those addressing the bereaved - or soon to be dead.

Hermione shivered and watched Snape's mouth thin.

"No," he said shortly. He was turning the handle of a tea spoon over and over in his fingers until he became aware of what he was doing and set it down.

"I've placed the lily by the front door," said Flitwick, looking as if he was about to burst into tears. "The charm will ensure the lily takes no harm during Apparition and is one of my own devising. You should learn it, Voldemort might want to know what you used. Have you your wand?"

"Of course."

At any other time Hermione would have enjoyed seeing Snape endure criticism of his wrist movement but she dared not watch him. To her relief Madam Pomfrey engaged her in some meaningless enquiry and she concentrated on replying to it.

Snape left the room just before the owl post arrived.

"Does Hagrid know Professor Snape is a spy?" Hermione asked.

"You think Severus would still be alive if Hagrid did?" said Black. "He'd have blabbed the truth to the first person to offer him some exotic beast."

"That's not wholly fair," said Dumbledore, before he shrugged under the concerted stares of various members of staff. "No, Hagrid doesn't - and mustn't - know," he conceded. "Though I would trust him with my life."

"Just so long as you don't entrust him with Severus'," said Professor Sprout, meeting and holding Dumbledore's gaze.

 

Most of the meeting of the Inner Circle was spent bringing Filch up-to-date and hearing reports of progress made. Hermione toyed with an escaped tendril of hair. While they were compiling plenty of information, none of it seemed of any use in defeating Voldemort. Questioning Severus - when had that happened? - Snape wasn't an option at the moment. If it ever was again.

Hagrid returned just after lunch and Hermione escaped to his cottage. On her way there she saw a familiar figure sitting on a fallen tree trunk, clove-scented smoke trailing through the almost motionless air. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The only other time Snape had smoked those disgusting cheroots was while waiting to discover if he had been infected by saliva from a werewolf. Her hands clenched at her sides Hermione watched the achingly straight set of his shoulders before turning and taking the long way round to Hagrid's cottage.

After a joyful greeting from Hagrid, and an exceedingly slobbery one from Fang, Hermione settled down to hear about Hagrid's weeks of dragon-watching while helping him to spring-clean - which consisted mainly of waiting until Fang's attention was elsewhere before disposing of the yellowing bones of unidentifiable animals which he had strewn about the place in case famine loomed on the horizon.

Then, because she could stay away no longer, she hurried back to Hogwarts in the hope of seeing Snape, only to discover he had been summoned just after lunch.

"But that's over twelve hours before the ceremony," she said, her gaze moving between Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. "Is that usual?"

"No," said Professor McGonagall shortly, "it isn't. Now. We can either pace the halls, which will do nothing but wear out our shoes, or we can work. And I have plenty you can help me with. If you will."

"Anything," said Hermione grimly.

 

"It's gone midnight, you should sleep," said Professor McGonagall, although without much conviction. The lines on her face looked deeper than usual and she was having difficulty containing her nervous energy.

"How do you know when he gets back?" asked Hermione. There was no need to name him, no point pretending thoughts of him weren't filling every moment.

"I don't, usually. But then I rarely knew when he was summoned. He usually goes straight to Albus - so you can see he'll be in good hands."

Keeping her thoughts to herself, Hermione nodded politely and went to her quarters without protest. She would have gone to the Entrance Hall to wait for him but doubted if Snape would ever use such a visible means of entry and exit when there were other, more private gates, to slip through.

Performing all the usual nighttime rituals, she bathed and moisturised and changed into her warmest pyjamas before sitting to watch through the night again, as if somehow that could keep him safe.

She fell asleep some time around dawn and awoke with a sick headache in the full glare of the sun.

Snape had yet to return.

***

 

Two days passed and Hermione's admiration for the professors she had come to know during the summer increased; to listen to them no one would guess the extent of their anxiety, except perhaps for the fact they were quieter than usual and that Dumbledore forgot to eat sweets, a distant look to him, as if the majority of his attention was elsewhere. In retrospect she never remembered much about that time, moving in a numbing cloud of exhaustion. She spent most of her time wandering the grounds close to the perimeter, oblivious to the large dog who was never far away as Black kept watch over her while using his enhanced senses to check for Snape.

 

"He's dead, isn't he," Hermione said in an unfamiliar voice, when Madam Pomfrey came to see her that evening. Tomorrow the rest of the staff would return to Hogwarts.

"We don't know that. We don't know anything." Bitterness leaked through Madam Pomfrey's usually brisk tones. "I won't deny that we're all worried but this is a school, life must go on. As does the fight against Voldemort. You help no one by not eating or sleeping. There is so much to be done, Hermione. We need all the help we can get. Now, scrambled eggs and milk, I think, before a measure of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. And when you awake there will be work in plenty for you to do."

Too exhausted to protest, Hermione ate the meal set in front of her without being aware of what she was swallowing, then took the small phial handed to her. Pausing, she inhaled, as if hoping to find something of the man who had brewed it, but there was nothing. Her expression one of rigid control, she drank the potion down in one swallow.

 

The storm which had been gathering for several days broke just after two in the morning, when Hermione was already asleep. The temperature plummeting, wind-driven hail battered the ancient castle as lightning ripped through the sky. The sound of the thunder was deafening.

Grateful they didn't have a castle full of frightened children to contend with, the few staff who were present congregated in Dumbledore's study and reluctantly conceded the necessity of rearranging the timetable until a replacement Potions teacher could be found.

"I know Severus was - is," Flitwick corrected himself fiercely, "very pleased with the way you've come on," he said to Black.

"He is?" Pleasure battled with astonishment, before irritation won through. "I don't need his approval."

"Nonsense," said Professor Sprout trenchantly. "Severus knows his Potions and is notoriously hard to please. Given your history of animosity, you must have talent for him to work with you at all."

"He worked with me because he didn't expect to live to see - " Black stopped when he saw Professor McGonagall purse her lips, which did nothing to stop her eyes from watering, while Professor Sprout gave him a look so ferocious that for a moment he forgot they were allies.

"Severus is not dead," she said flatly. "However, with the aid of an Appearance Detracting Charm, you could take over some of the junior classes. That Charm is far more reliable than Polyjuice and once in place remains so until it's removed. I suppose it's so effective because it works with and exaggerates existing features."

"It's too risky," said Lupin. "If anyone finds out a Dementor will - "

"That's always been a risk," said Black, although colour had visibly drained from his face at the very mention of the Dementors. "But I know nothing about teaching."

"More than you did," said Flitwick. "You've sat in on a number of classes in your animagus form. You must have picked up something."

"Yes. That I'm no teacher. I'd kill the little bastards the moment they started playing up. And they always start playing up."

"Not in Severus' classes they don't," said Professor Sprout. "Or mine. It's time you applied yourself to some more serious work. You and March can work on the Appearance Detracting Charm tomorrow." She used that tone of voice so rarely that it was always effective when she did.

Black gave a defeated nod before he glanced out the window, where rain was now lashing the side of the castle. "I should be out there on patrol," he muttered. "It would be just like Snape to come back in this."

"I'll come with you," said Lupin.

"No. Stay and make sure I don't get volunteered for anything else," grinned Black, before he slid out of the study.

 

Even his thick fur was insufficient to keep Black dry as he prowled around the four foot high brick wall, which marked the boundaries of the grounds, while checking the invisible wards which actually guarded them. It didn't do to rely on the creatures which inhabited the Forbidden Forest respecting any other boundary markers. The huge wrought iron gates were closed and locked and the castle was warded above and below ground nowadays. Unable to shake off a sense of foreboding, Black was more watchful than ever as he maintained a ceaseless patrol, varying its direction at whim to prevent it from becoming predictable.

Shaking water from his sodden coat while he was under the protection of an old elm tree, he saw the faint light on the horizon and knew dawn couldn't be far away; the storm was over, the wind easing and the rain slowed to a heavy drizzle. Revelling in his restored physical condition, he ran for the joy of it, testing his stamina for the day when it would be needed most.

 

It had been light for an hour when hunger made Black decide to go in; he would come out again later. With luck the excuse would save him from their plans to try and turn him into a teacher.

Sensing something amiss, the hackles on the back of his neck began to rise and he stopped, sniffing the air. But after so many weeks without rain the storm had unleashed a multitude of conflicting scents so that the canine part of him was almost dizzy with the barrage on his senses. Forcing himself to slow his pace he emerged from the rear of the castle, heading for the main gates, which Hagrid would be opening in a couple of hours.

Something was wrong, debris lying just outside the gates and he began to lope towards them until he could see the rubble was what remained of the smashed carvings of the winged boars' heads which usually decorated the posts at the side of each gate.

One scent grew stronger than all the others and he looked around as something warm and intoxicating splashed down onto his head: blood. Ruled by canine responses, he began to drool despite himself. Looking up, he discovered that the stone heads of the winged boars had been replaced by the decapitated heads of Argus Filch and his wife Majolica, who had for so many years been trapped in her animagus form of Mrs Norris; there was still a trace of fur visible around what was left of her neck.

Human revulsion collided with canine panic and for a moment Black could not respond.

Baying at the top of his voice, he raced back to the castle and so did not look beyond the gates to where, on the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, lay the crumpled figure of a man. He lay as one dead, looking like a bundle of broken sticks that had been thrown down by a careless hand. His black robes clung soddenly to him, the white mask gripped by one clenched hand no paler than what could be seen of his face. His limbs were sprawled awkwardly, as though disjointed, his torso twisted. Only the sweat on his skin betrayed that he was alive; that and the agony in his eyes, which seemed to be all he could move.


	19. Chapter 19

NINETEEN

 

All tenderness, Hagrid controlled his grief for long enough to recover the remains of Filch and his wife. But by the time he had carried them back to the castle tears were glittering like jewels in the nest of his beard and his great shoulders shook with sobs.

From their vantage point at the top of the North Tower, Flitwick and Madam Hooch painstakingly checked every inch of the wards guarding Hogwarts - not forgetting those above and below ground.

Dumbledore stood at the heart of those members of staff still clustered by the gates, giving what little comfort it was in his power to offer. As he stared up at the pillars, the tops of which still bore grisly stains, he looked every one of his years - and more besides.

Black stopped him from completing a cleansing spell. "There may be a scent which might tell us the identity of the killers. I'll check." His face set against the revulsion which tightened his throat and churned in his belly, he used a Levitation Charm before making a meticulous examination of the area.

Professor McGonagall blew her nose in a decided way. "How was this even possible? At our very gates." Her face looked pinched and drawn with shock.

"It was a challenge," said Dumbledore.

"And a warning of what he could do next. Put someone who possesses an intimate knowledge of the school and its wards under the influence of the Imperius and you'd have a formidable weapon," pointed out Lupin, his calm voice at variance with the ferocity in his eyes. "One who could murder you, Harry...any one of us." Without making a production of it, some of his attention remained on Black at all times.

Dumbledore turned to him. "You're referring to Severus?"

"It's a possibility."

"The rest of the staff arrive later today, the students on Monday," said Professor McGonagall. "If Hogwarts is going to be under attack - "

"Everyone will be safer within our walls than outside them," said Dumbledore, projecting calm.

"Unless Severus returns to us under the influence of Imperius," pointed out Lupin, his control over his anger slipping. The air was clogged with the scent of blood, pulling at his senses; the hunger which never quite went away.

"You're quick to accuse him." Grief had hardened the warmth of Professor Sprout's eyes and sharpened her mellow voice. She had taught Majolica thirty-seven years ago and had known Argus Filch all his adult life. She stared at the spot one hundred yards down the perimeter from the gates, where their decapitated bodies had been found, crudely positioned in one of the more athletic positions for intercourse. It was the malice which must have prompted that final crude cruelty which had distressed her most of all.

As fast as it had flared, Lupin's anger faded, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not accusing Severus, just being realistic. It's an obvious line of attack. None of us could be held responsible for our actions while under Imperius." He steadied Black as he returned to the ground, one hand remaining in the small of his back.

"Which is why it made such a splendid defence for Voldemort's Death Eaters," retorted Professor McGonagall tartly. "Severus would never - "

"Oh, my dear," murmured Dumbledore. "You know as well as I do that he may not have been given a choice. There has always been the risk of Voldemort using Severus as a weapon rather than just as a spy. But I believe that I would know if he was placed under Imperius. And because Severus trusts me - as much as he trusts anyone," he amended wryly, "he always comes to me on his return from Voldemort. Not necessarily to report, because too many times he has been close to collapse, but so that I can ascertain whether or not he has full control of his mental faculties. It has been a concern of his for some time. Severus believes that it is pride which stops Voldemort from using Imperius. Voldemort knows he must be seen to be the one who defeats me and takes over Hogwarts. And even then he must still face - and destroy - Harry. Both Severus and I believe that is where he is concentrating his efforts. The attacks on the families of pupils and Muggles seem to have little purpose beyond 'entertainments' for his Death Eaters. Though fear is as good a way as any of creating confusion and weakening the resolve of those who stand against you."

"I sometimes think we place too much reliance on Harry's ability to face up to Voldemort," said Professor Sprout.

"He is unique," said Dumbledore simply. "The only person in the wizarding world with the blood of all four founders of Hogwarts running through his veins."

"Somewhat diluted by now, I would have thought," retorted Professor Sprout.

"You're beginning to channel Severus," said Dumbledore, with the faintest of smiles. "I concede that I still don't fully understand why that connection to all four founders is so important - only that Voldemort fears it."

"Have you told Harry?" asked Black abruptly.

"Do you know of any seventeen year olds willing to sit through several tortuous hours of genealogy? Better, for now, that he concentrates on his own worth rather than whatever power might lie in him from his blood ties, no matter how tenuous they might have become down the centuries, to the founders. If only I had known earlier that Voldemort carries - carried, I should say - the blood of three houses in his veins. What did your investigations tell you?" Dumbledore added, gesturing to the pillars Black had checked..

"That Snape isn't the one who killed them. There are two distinct scents, both of which contain elements I've smelt before. I just don't know where."

"Perhaps the fathers - or more distant relatives - of two of our pupils?" suggested Professor Sprout.

Black nodded. "It seems the most likely explanation. Remus, you should imprint them, too."

Grimacing, Lupin got on with the task which was made all the more taxing because of the pull the blood exerted on the werewolf within.

"That's a relief," said Professor McGonagall briskly. "Not least for Severus' sake. My greatest fear is that tomorrow morning we could wake to find his head on a spike." Her voice was tight with strain.

The lines on Dumbledore's face deepened, not least because his first reaction on hearing who had died had been relief that Severus was still - as far as they knew - alive.

"There may be more clues where the bodies were found," said Professor McGonagall. "I propose that Sirius and Remus track scent trails, while Ceres, Poppy and I keep watch. Albus, you'll stay on guard here?" It sounded melodramatic but certainties were crumbling after the murder of two of their own at their very gates.

It took Professor Sprout's practical good sense to dispel the mood. "Voldemort dare not meet Albus face to face. Think, Minerva. Since he failed to get hold of the Philosopher's Stone Voldemort has been all too aware of his own mortality. For all his much-vaunted power, he knows there are still two wizards capable of killing him and he's always avoided standing against Albus. When was the last time he met Harry, face to face?"

"But last summer..."

"Wasn't a direct, face-to-face confrontation. Nor was the year before. It's time we remembered that Voldemort isn't invincible, just ruthless and wholly without moral scruples. Now, I suggest we see what we can learn about those who performed this outrage."

Black waited until the others had followed Professor Sprout outside the gates before pausing beside Dumbledore. "Is it true? You could kill Voldemort?" Despite the effort he was making, accusation seeped through.

"Oh, Sirius..." Dumbledore slowly exhaled. "Do you seriously imagine I would leave the fate of the wizarding world in the hands of a boy if there was any other option? Yes, I believe I could kill Voldemort. But I couldn't destroy him. Only the heir to the four Houses can do that."

Black studied his feet. "I had to ask," he mumbled, looking ashamed.

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder. "I know. So would I, in your place. Now go and make yourself useful."

Black nodded. "It might seem as if we take you for granted, but you should know, we don't." Much to his own surprise, he lent in to give Dumbledore a swift, clumsy kiss on the cheek before jogging out of the gates.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore watched him go, but it was noticeable that he held his shoulders a little straighter.

 

Black picked up Snape's scent immediately, his excitement fading when Lupin reminded him how many times Snape had used the gates and that he had left through them only three days before. But he, too, looked uneasy and kept scanning the area, moving closer and closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"What's wrong?" Dumbledore called.

"I can smell Severus so strongly that he must be here. Pain. Fear. Anger. Blood. Ah, irritation. Merlin knows I've felt that from him often enough. He's here. Alive. He must be under some kind of spell. And presumably unable to speak."

"There are a number of invisibility charms," said Professor Sprout practically, before she cast the first counter-charm and began a methodical sweep of the area.

Lupin recalled the other members of staff so they could begin a physical check. After such a long drought the rain had left the air virtually vibrating with scents, to the point where he began to doubt the evidence of his beleaguered senses. In the event, he found Snape by the simple expedient of tripping over his body. A choked sound of agony sent Madam Pomfrey scurrying over to the spot. Shooing everyone back, she mapped out Snape's body with the tip of her wand, although it was beyond her power to break the charm.

The cloaking spell which had been imposed on Snape was so strong that it took Dumbledore a full three minutes to remove it, much to Madam Pomfrey's muttered displeasure. The fact she couldn't see her patient was no bar to her taking diagnostic readings; they left a grim set to her mouth.

"Sirius, it's no good shouting at Severus to answer you - it's all he can do to breathe. He has a broken jaw, nose and cheekbone and multiple dislocations - shoulder, elbow, hip, knee and thumb, a broken fibula and three cracked ribs."

Snape snapped into view so suddenly that it made several people jump before they crowded around his twisted figure.

Dumbledore crouched beside Snape's head. "Severus, I must know. Is Hogwarts going to be attacked? I realise you can't talk. Blink twice if you understand me."

The dark eyelashes rose and fell twice, although it was clearly an effort. What could be seen of Snape's face was grossly swollen, the Cleansing Charm Madam Pomfrey had used revealing the raw abrasions down visible portions of skin . His lips parted, drool ran from the side of his mouth; it was obvious that every laboured inhalation hurt him.

Using two blinks for 'yes' and one for 'no' it didn't take long to ascertain that as far as Snape was aware there were no plans to attack Hogwarts. He had not known Filch and his wife were dead and his frustration at his inability to speak left him panting with pain, after an poorly considered attempt to move.

It was at that point that Madam Pomfrey insisted she be allowed to tend to her patient. Her expression was so ferocious that not even Dumbledore tried to argue with her.

 

"Severus Snape! What do you think you're doing?"

Easing his second arm into his academic robe, Snape spared her an irritable glance.

"I only reduced the swelling around those joints twenty minutes ago. You require bed rest before you can - "

"Enough!" interrupted Snape, his roughened voice sounding unfamiliar. "I'm fine," he added a few moments later.

Knowing he was anything but, however many wounds she might have healed, Madam Pomfrey had also learnt better than to argue with him. At least this way he might come to her of his own accord the next time he was hurt; alienate him and it would take months to rebuild his trust.

"I've rehydrated you but you must keep up your fluid intake. And you need food - small quantities at first - and sleep. A lot of sleep. The first week of term is always the most demanding and your strength has been severely compromised. You - "

"When's the funeral?"

"At eleven. Before the first of the staff arrive. Albus has agreed with your proposal to keep the murders a secret. As far as everyone else is concerned, Argus and Majolica simply failed to return after the holidays and no one knew where they went. Later, the truth can be told."

"I need to examine the bodies before the service. They might offer clues." Snape stood too fast, swayed and was forced to sit again. His scowl kept Madam Pomfrey away.

"Sirius couldn't identify who left the scent trails, only that there was something familiar about them," said Madam Pomfrey as she took unobtrusive readings with her wand.

Snape's scowl deepened but he didn't waste his energy protesting. "Sirius didn't sit at Voldemort's feet while one hundred and seventy three Death Eaters were initiated. I was close enough to smell them all. If it was one of the new intake, I'll know."

She stared at him in horror. "So many? Of ours?"

"Twenty nine. Forty-seven from Beauxbatons. The rest from Durmstrang."

"How can you be so sure?"

"House elves. Every school has a laundry. The house elves of which use different herbs or oils to scent the rinsing water. Durmstrang use myrrh." Snape's nose wrinkled fastidiously. "Beauxbatons use a florid concoction with tuber rose base notes. Ex-pupils, no matter how many years it has been since they attended school, tend to stick to the familiar in small things. Death Eaters are all pure blooded wizards. All have house elves."

"What do we use in our laundry?"

"Nothing. We used to but I ascertained that prolonged exposure in those kinds of quantities has an adverse effect on the nasal receptors of the house elves."

"But your clothing smells of rosemary," she said, because this trivia was preferable to thinking of so many ex-pupils lost to the ranks of the Death Eaters.

"Yes, I like torturing house elves," said Snape irritably.

"They don't have problems with rosemary?"

"Oh, ten points to Hufflepuff. I haven't got time to waste on this piffle. I need a stimulant. The Pepperup won't do, by itself."

"You need twelve hours sleep," Madam Pomfrey retorted tartly.

"Which I'm not likely to get for a while. My usual mixture, if you please. Poppy," he stopped for a moment, exhaustion dragging at the muscles of his face. "We don't have time to argue. There's too much that needs to be done. Yes, I know the risks, and no, I don't intend to make a habit of it."

"I don't like it," she said, frowning.

"You're not required to," he said, with an arrogance which made her long to box his ears, before she remembered what lay behind it. His usual grace of movement lost, he eased himself to his feet and followed her to the stock cupboard.

"You also need a strong analgesic," she pointed out.

He didn't waste his breath denying the obvious. "After my debriefing with Albus. Right now I need a clear head more than anything else."

And the chance to regain some semblance of control after three days as Voldemort's plaything, she recognised, her professional face firmly in place. While the physical trauma from the sexual assault he had suffered had been negligible, when compared to his other injuries, she didn't care to try and estimate its long-term effects on him. After his relative approachability of recent weeks the barricades were clearly back. He had yet to meet her gaze, and was dressed for winter. All starched formality, he was buttoned to wrist and throat and ankle, the barest minimum of flesh on view. The Appearance Detracting Charm in place, little of his face could be seen through lank swathes of hair. Despite the medication he had taken, his stress levels were far too high.

"I'll come with you while you examine the bodies," she said. "Are you sure it's necessary?"

"It might help to identify their killers. And perhaps more besides.

"'And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

they can tell us, being dead: the communication

of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.'

"Argus trusted few people. If he was taken off-guard, it was by someone he knew. Someone he knew and trusted."

"That narrows the field," said Madam Pomfrey dryly. "He made you look positively trusting."

"Given the treatment of squibs in the wizarding world it's a wonder he was prepared to trust anyone," retorted Snape, who was watching her preparations with a critical eye. "No, I'll need four drops of - "

About to protest, Madam Pomfrey added the extra two drops, waited until the sludge-green mixture had stopped smoking and handed him the glass.

"Make me up another dose that I can carry with me," said Snape, viewing the contents of the glass without enthusiasm. "I may need it later."

"If you're not flat on your back when the effect of the second dose wears off you'll drop like a stone."

"Poppy."

It was the effort he made to keep his temper leashed rather than his impatience which convinced her. "Very well," she capitulated, "but I want to register my disapproval."

The sweetness of his smile came from nowhere. "Duly noted," said Snape gravely, before he drained the glass, only to splutter with disgust. "Why didn't you remind me how revolting that tastes?"

"You're the only person who ever takes it. It's far too strong for the children. I thought you were lying when you claimed to like the taste last time."

Snape affected not to have heard. "Where are the bodies being kept?"

"I'll come with you. A medical opinion may be useful," she added, as if that was her only thought.

While his look was openly sceptical, Snape made no protest.

 

Feeling slow-witted and lethargic after her potion-induced sleep, it took Hermione some time to wake up. Unable to eat until she had heard if Severus was home and safe, she spent almost an hour trying to locate anyone. Just when she was beginning to panic that something dreadful must have happened to him she located Professor McGonagall in her study, which looked as if a bomb had hit it. Her temper short and her tongue sharp, she barely seemed to be listening to Hermione's query as she busied herself sifting through parchments.

"Yes, of course Severus is back. He returned just after dawn this morning. Alive and likely to stay that way. I understand he was dehydrated and exhausted from lack of sleep. No doubt you'll see him later. At the sorting feast on Monday, if not before," she said, without looking up from what she was doing. "Have you seen a roll of parchment about so long? Ah, I have it."

Her heart sinking as she realised how long she was going to have to wait to see him, Hermione nodded dumbly. It was slowly seeping into her consciousness just how awful this term was going to be. Unless they had Potions she couldn't even rely on glimpsing him because in term time he often failed to eat at High Table; talking to him wasn't even an option. She missed him already. But he was alive. And safe. Her legs suddenly unsteady with relief, she propped herself against the wall and tried to concentrate on what Professor McGonagall was saying.

"Well don't just stand there, girl. We've got far too much work to do. The rest of the staff will start arriving any time now and we still haven't had the Head of House meeting, let alone the staff meeting and... Take this to Professor Weasley - he's in Ravenclaw Tower with Molly at the moment, this to Professor Sprout and these to Professor Flitwick. Remind March that his classroom will be out of commission until Filch has - Will be out of commission for at least the next three weeks. I still need to know whether the substitute room found for him is acceptable. Also, ask Bill - Professor Weasley - " she amended impatiently, "to let me have his revised timetables. Then come back to me. I need another pair of legs. Well, don't just stand there, child. Go."

***

 

As members of the Upper Sixth Harry and Ron had risen to the heady heights of those entitled to have their own rooms, even if they were little more than partitioned cubicles within a five person dormitory.

Harry studied his surroundings with bright-eyed excitement. This was his first real room. His room at the Dursleys didn't count because they hadn't wanted him to have it and at Ron's he just borrowed a room. But this was his. A four poster bed with a large chest at the foot of it. Two shabby, comfortable armchairs, the dull crimson leather scuffed by those who had used them before. Like that mattered. They were comfortable. A window, with some cushions so he didn't freeze his arse off on the stone window seat. There was even a broomstick cupboard. And a study area, with a shelf for books. They'd need more than one shelf for Hermione, he thought, running his hand along it. His room. For now.

"Oy, Harry! Haven't you finished unpacking yet?" demanded Ron, knocking on the door only as he entered the room.

"Yeah. I was just - It's going to be strange, having our own rooms. Nice, though."

"It'll certainly make some things easier," said Ron.

Wanking, for one, thought Harry, giving his best friend a look which combined honest envy with puzzlement that Ron - of all people - should suddenly have blossomed into a Sex-God last year. If only some of it could rub off on him. It wasn't like Ron was even good-looking like that Ravenclaw prat the girls went mad over. But sometimes it seemed as if Ron only had to look at a girl for her to be putty in his hands; while some of his girlfriends hadn't lasted more than a few weeks they always parted by mutual consent - and with no hard feelings. How Ron did it was something Harry was still trying to work out. His own relationships were a joke. If you listened to Juniper or Merrilyn he was a cross between the biggest bastard and - even worse - the biggest bore going. Take last term, with Merrilyn. He hadn't even progressed beyond a kiss and feel of her -

And that had cost him a knee in the balls. It was his own fault for using Vernon Dursley as a role-model in seduction techniques. Though maybe once you'd been married to someone like Petunia for years and years you didn't have to bother. It was just his luck that the library didn't stock any useful books. Oh, there were plenty telling you how to do it, but none that told you how to get to that stage in a relationship. 'Relationship'. Some joke that was. What he had was armed warfare...

Harry looked up to find Ron watching him.

"What's up?" asked Ron.

"Nothing," denied Harry. Ron might be his best mate but he had some pride. "I still don't see why we had to come back two days before everyone else," he groused, unhappy with any changes to tradition. "This place is like a mad house. If it isn't house elves dashing around, it's staff expecting us to help out and with my luck I'll get caught by Trelawney or Snape. I haven't been able to find Sirius yet. I thought he might have found time so we could spend a few hours together before school starts on Monday."

Busy studying the goatee beard he had been nurturing during the summer holidays, Ron turned his head and studied his mirrored reflection as the crystal earring he wore sparkled in the sunlight. He wondered if the small iridescent feather that shivered beneath it was overkill.

Harry threw a pillow at the back of his head, which Ron deflected with no more than a twitch of his wand.

"Prat," he said amiably.

"Then stop admiring your reflection." Standing beside him, Harry peered gloomily into the mirror. "I don't think there's much chance of me growing any taller. Do you?"

"It doesn't seem like it," said Ron without much interest, from his eight inch advantage of height.

Harry tugged at his fringe. "Whatever style I try it just ends up looking the same as it did when I was eleven." He wondered if he could carry off the look Ron had been sporting for the last six months, with his long red hair tied back in a severe queue. But whatever style he tried, nothing seemed to subdue his hair for long.

"Be grateful the rest of you has changed. I suppose it has changed?" added Ron, keeping his face straight only with difficulty.

The ensuing scuffling match resulted in a lot of breathless giggling.

"I just meant that no one's ever going to accuse me of being good-looking, are they?" said Harry, as they went out through the Gryffindor Common Room, nodding to the Fat Lady as they stepped into the corridor.

"Not many people are," Ron pointed out, with all the smug satisfaction of someone who had risen above such mundanities, thanks to the bucket-load of sex-appeal which some kind fairy had poured over him. Much to the loudly expressed disbelief of his family. "You're all right. Well, I've seen worse," he added as an afterthought.

"Yes," said Harry dryly. "D'you think your mum has stopped crying yet?" Fishing two Chocolate Frogs from a pocket, he handed one to Ron.

"She's fine," said Ron tolerantly. "Just pregnant, that's all. It's hormones. Or something. And she hated having to leave The Burrow. But after what happened to Filch... I mean, I know he was a git but... I'm glad mum's safe here at Hogwarts. So's dad, even if it might make things even trickier for him at the Ministry."

"Mmn." Harry looked pensive. "About your mum. It was just that I've never had anything to do with pregnant women before." He tried not to sound defensive, or as shocked as he had felt when he had first seen Molly Weasley, who looked to him as if she must be carrying a Hippogriff.

"No," said Ron, failing to subdue a grin. There weren't many things that scared Harry but his pregnant mother was one of them. Three, if you counted the twins she was carrying. For his own part Ron had spent too many years as a member of a large family living in small, cramped rooms not to know that his parents had a sex life. You either got over the fact pretty quickly, or you went barmy. Which might account for Percy, now he thought about it.

"It's not funny, Ron. So if I hear Dean or Seamus making jokes at my expense..."

"Yeah, yeah. Quick, there's Trelawney. Let's go and see Hagrid."

To their disappointment Hagrid's cottage was empty, except for Fang, who was twitching and farting in his sleep. The air sulphurous, they didn't linger. Unable to think of anything else to do, they headed aimlessly back to the castle. A quick call at the kitchens left them munching Cornish pasties as they took refuge in the herb garden.

Harry licked his greasy fingers. "Is it me but Hermione didn't seem that thrilled to see us earlier? She said all the right things but it was like she wasn't really there."

"It's not you," said Ron. "She looked...all white and tense. It's still her mum and dad, I suppose. We should've owled her more often."

Harry looked resigned. "No need to be tactful. Go on, say it. Dumbledore has. I should've come back to school instead of staying with you and watching Quidditch. And not just for Hermione. It never occurred to me that Sirius might - " he shrugged. "You know."

Harry was still smarting from the lecture he had received. He wasn't used to Dumbledore's disapproval - or worse, knowing that he had disappointed him. He didn't need reminding that this was his last year at school. Probably his last year alive. Only no one but him seemed to think of that. Just because he'd been lucky for the last six years didn't mean his luck was going to hold. He didn't know how he had survived this long. Yes, he could do stuff other people couldn't but most of the time he didn't know how he did it, so what use was that? And if there were no more magical rabbits to be pulled out of hats then next time he and Voldemort met... It had been two years since there had been a face to face confrontation. Two years in which Voldemort's power had increased while he had started to shave.

Hardly an equal contest.

And he was scared. To the point where he wasn't sure if he could hide it any more. He wasn't even sure if he could go on being the plucky Boy Who Had to Face Voldemort. He just wanted a life where he didn't have to worry. Where he was free to be himself and do what he wanted - which was to play Quidditch for England and have sex. Although not necessarily in that order.

Ron had. Not that he had said anything. He had just looked quietly pleased with himself when some of the others started bragging. And once, without thinking, he'd corrected something Malfoy had said. Which made Malfoy a virgin, too. Unless he'd got lucky this summer. Harry was willing to bet that every one but him had got lucky. Even Dudleykins had a girlfriend. Of sorts.

"No need to take it to heart," said Ron, wondering if Harry would ever talk about what was really bothering him. "After spending all summer with the Dursleys you were entitled to some fun. I could have come back to school with you," he added. "I knew we should've done really but I chickened out because I didn't know what to say to Hermione - beyond the obvious."

"Why, Messrs Weasley and Potter. How nice," said Professor Sprout, beaming as they belatedly got to their feet.

"We're looking for Hermione," said Harry, as if she had made some accusation.

"I thought you saw her when you arrived."

"Well, yes. But she seemed a bit...preoccupied."

"How inconsiderate of her."

Harry blinked at that trace of acid. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just... I can't find Sirius, either."

"He's busy. As are we all. Ron, is your mother settling in comfortably? Not doing too much, I hope?"

"She's fine, thanks. Ginny and I saw to the last of the unpacking. I made sure mum put her feet up. I've left Ginny and Bill keeping watch."

"Good boy. I know this academic year will be tricky for you, with Bill - Professor Weasley, I should say - working here. But it isn't as if you'll be in his class."

"Unlike Ginny," said Ron, with an unsympathetic grin.

"Ginny's a sensible girl, she'll cope. I'm delighted to have the chance to see more of Molly. I've always been fond of her. Now, I must get going. Harry, make yourself useful and go and help Madam Pomfrey. You'll find her in her office in the hospital wing. Ron, I have a meeting I must attend. I wonder if you would see to this problem in the hothouse for me?"

Harry watched the two very different figures disappear down the garden path and allowed his shoulders to slump. If only having a brother teaching at Hogwarts was the worst thing he had to worry about this year.

It would have been nice to see his eighteenth birthday, he mused, wallowing in self-pity as he went into the castle. Better still if he could have sex, of course. It didn't help that all the girls he had asked out seemed more interested in letting it be known they were going out with the Boy Who Lived than in a Harry Potter who was shit-scared and who didn't have a clue what he would be doing with his life anyway. If he survived.

Even the two weeks with the Weasleys hadn't been as much fun as he'd expected. He'd barely heard from Sirius and the Weasleys had been...odd. Except for Ron, of course. It was strange, Mrs Weasley being pregnant. She was so old to be having a baby - babies - not that he even wanted to think about that. No one but him seemed to think it was strange that witches could keep having babies right up until they were seventy odd. Not that he thought Mrs Weasley was that old. Probably. But her being pregnant meant that she hadn't had as much time for him as usual and -

He was turning into a total arsehole. She'd been brilliant. The same as always. He was just turning into some needy whiner. He'd be wanting approval from Snape next. Grinning at the likelihood of that happening, Harry headed for the hospital wing. When he'd finished helping Madam Pomfrey he might be able to get some practice in on the new Nimbus he'd bought.

Racing down a narrow stone staircase at breakneck speed, Harry rounded a tight corner so quickly that only a lightning fast charm stopped him from smacking face first into the wall. Having over-done the charm, he rebounded into the person who had been coming around the corner in the opposite direction, sending them thumping back against the far wall.

To Harry's dismay it was Snape. He made a hissing sound, like the snake he was, then went dangerously still, his face a twisted mask. It was the bane of Harry's life that his lack of inches meant he still had to look up to the bastard - if not nearly as far as he used to. He mumbled an unconvincing apology, taking a petty satisfaction from the fact he had obviously winded the dried up old bat.

"Potter. I should have guessed. Still convinced the world revolves around you, I see. Madam Pomfrey requires your assistance in the hospital wing. Now," he added, when Harry just glared at him with the same poorly concealed hatred he had displayed as a skinny first year. "She needs help moving certain items. Unless you feel the Boy Who Lived is too grand for mere menial work?"

Harry's glare would have turned sand to glass but six years under the lash of Snape's sarcasm had taught him the futility of answering back. Snape seemed to get uglier with each passing year. The holidays obviously hadn't done much for him. His skin had the damp pallor of a slug's belly. Disgusting.

"Well go on, boy. I'll have to see quite enough of you in term time."

Harry went. But half-turning as he reached the corner he was surprised to see Snape still standing where he had left him. Fumbling in a pocket, Snape took out something and downed the contents in one gulp. Harry blinked. Great. Now Snape was turning into an alcoholic. Resolved to keep a close eye on him, Harry hurried on his way when it occurred to him that Madam Pomfrey might know where Hermione had got to.

 

Propped against the wall while he waited for the cocktail of stimulants he had just drunk to take effect, Snape braced himself for his meeting with Dumbledore and the revelations he must make, in the knowledge that they would be shared amongst the Inner Circle. But who knew what might help? The slow drip of information he was now feeding Voldemort had the double benefit of keeping him in favour and some of Voldemort's resources occupied elsewhere. It wasn't much but it was more than they'd had before.

Revitalised to a dangerous degree, Snape headed off to Dumbledore's study. To his dismay, Dumbledore had already started a meeting with the other Heads of House.

"Severus, I know this is the last thing you must feel like, but if we finish this now, you and I needn't attend the staff meeting and I can take your full report then."

Feeling disconnected from what was going on around him, Snape began to pace while Dumbledore brought him up-to-date with the discussion so far. The meeting was over in fifteen minutes, leaving them all with a great deal of work to get through before the start of the new term.

"Oh, my stars," said Dumbledore, just as everyone got to their feet. "We've forgotten to appoint a head girl and boy." He ignored rebellious mutterings to say firmly, "Nominations, please."

"Susan Bones," said Professor Sprout briskly. "She's well-liked, but not too popular. Fair. Honest. Good with the young ones. Truthful. And as steady as the foundations of Hogwarts."

"Not quite the comparison I would have chosen," murmured Dumbledore, who had cause to know more about the foundations than most. "An excellent choice. Does anyone disagree? Severus?"

He concealed his inclined-to-twitch hands in the folds of his robes. "She'll do as well as anyone else. So long as it doesn't affect her work in Potions."

"Then, for head boy? Nominations?"

"Well, I was wondering about Har - " began Professor McGonagall.

"I could have put money on that," interrupted Snape. "I nominate Longbottom. No, I can't believe I'm saying it either," he added, his voice slicing through the hubbub with ease. "With Potter lionised by the impressionable and encouraged to flout any rule that takes his fancy - not l east by his head of house - the school needs a steadying influence, not someone who will be at the thick of any rule-breaking. Longbottom might have all the charisma of pond-water but he's displayed strength of character enough to stand up to his friends, he hasn't missed a Potions class in six years and he never let Malfoy succeed at bullying him. He can be relied upon to look out for anyone in need, not simply those from his own house."

There was a stunned silence when he stopped talking.

Professor McGonagall rubbed her thin-bridged nose. "Would the real Severus Snape step forward?"

Strung out on stimulants, Snape's temper slipped its leash. "Oh, for - ! Do you really think Potter would be a good role-model with his record of flouting rules - often for no better reason than his own convenience? Do you think juniors would go to the Boy Who Lived for help? No, nor do I."

To Snape's mortification, Dumbledore publically kissed his cheek. "Neville is an excellent choice. And one which transcends house rivalries. That's settled then. My. I can't remember the last time we had two unanimous decisions."

"Most of us are still lost for words," squeaked Flitwick, giving Snape a warm beam of approval. "Neville will have the broadest appeal of anyone out of the Upper Sixth. I was about to nominate Blaise Zabini."

Snape snorted and began pacing again. "Why? For the pleasure of hearing my house insulted? The days when a Slytherin expects favourable public attention are long gone. Zabini is an intelligent and sophisticated boy. Any expectations he may have had will have been excised after six years at Hogwarts. Or have you conveniently forgotten that every year at the Sorting Ceremony, nervous eleven year olds are hissed for no better reason than that they have been sorted into Slytherin? What, no denials or excuses? No. That would be difficult. In the circumstances."

"It's just childish high-spirits," protested Professor McGonagall, if without much conviction.

Snape didn't even glance in her direction. "Oh quite."

"You should take a good look at the behaviour of many of your Slytherins," added Professor McGonagall, a spot of colour high on each cheek. She wasn't sure how to interpret the expression on Snape's face before it was gone.

"What a good idea. I would never have thought of that. Perhaps you'd care to instruct me?"

"Well, I think that's all we have time for," said Dumbledore, before all-out war could be declared. "Except to say that I've been fortunate to find someone who can take Argus' place as school caretaker."

"Albus!" protested Professor Sprout. "We only cremated him two hours ago."

"You hardly need to remind me of that. The fact remains, the school needs a caretaker. And one we can trust." Dumbledore went over to the inconspicuous door which led to his quarters. "I wonder if you would like to join us? You, too, Remus."

The man who entered the room in front of an angry looking Lupin was of medium height, stocky, with a barrel chest, scanty faded hair, a loose mouth and runny light blue eyes.

"Good afternoon," he said, in a high, tight voice. He looked as if he would flinch at his own shadow.

"Perhaps further discussion might be a good idea," said Snape, wondering if Dumbledore had lost his mind. Then the man came closer. "Sirius!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, with satisfaction. "After some persuasion - "

" - blackmail," interjected Black sourly.

"Sirius has agreed to take over Argus' role as caretaker. He will also help Severus with the marking of first and second year Potions - "

"Over my dead body," said Snape, to whom this plan was news.

"An incentive if ever I heard one," said Black, looking more cheerful. "Forget it, Albus. I told you Severus wouldn't like it. I don't like it."

"Only you would look a gift-horse in the mouth," Lupin told Snape. "Give him the second and third year parchments. You'll want to assess the first years for yourself."

Snape's look of hauteur increased. "Let me be quite clear on this point. Either I teach Potions, or I don't. If you want Black to make himself useful - and not before time - let him do the marking for your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes."

Lupin gave him a look of betrayal.

"You've done us proud. You look perfect. Nothing noteworthy or memorable. And you've avoided the temptation of making yourself a comic turn," said Professor Sprout with approval. "Even if you do look as if you should smell of over-ripe cheese. Something which should prevent any over-sexed fifth year making advances to you. As a squib Argus was vulnerable to the baser instincts of some of our students."

"Exactly," said Professor McGonagall, having walked around Black to examine him from all angles. "You'll keep the more excitable element in their place. There's no denying it will be useful to have your wizarding skills at our disposal. The Ministry can't track wand work within Hogwarts, so that won't be a problem and that new wand you obtained - I should like to know from where - is working superbly. "

"I don't like anything about this," snapped Lupin, quietly and coldly furious. "It's far too dangerous for Sirius."

"Less so than if he continues to masquerade as your 'pet'," pointed out Snape, the sneer absent from his voice. "Given that Pettigrew knows your animagus form I don't know why he's never made the connection."

"Sirius, you can't honestly expect to get away with it?" Lupin protested, looking worried.

"Why not?" said Black indignantly. "Severus has been using an Appearance Detracting Charm for years. I must see if I can fool Harry. Are we going to tell him?"

"While he holds Severus in no affection, he has never done anything by look or word that might betray him," said Dumbledore. "So yes. He, Ron and Hermione need someone accessible to them when a member of staff might not."

"What is your new identity to be?" asked Professor Sprout practically.

"Ah," said Black, crestfallen. "I hadn't got that far."

"Quinapalus Pinchbeck," said Snape, after a moment.

Black gave him a look of suspicion. "I've known you far too long. What does it mean? 'Idiot' - or 'small penis?"

"No. Credit where it's due," drawled Snape, not to so far gone that he had lost the ability to judge a pause to a nicety.

Lupin glared at him but received a look so bland that he abandoned the unequal contest.

Finding himself under the speculative gazes of Professors Sprout and McGonagall, Black twitched, crossed his legs and tried to look nonchalant.

"As for your background, keep it simple," continued Snape. "Assistant Professor Pinchbeck. You've been travelling abroad, taking work where you can find it. You had a private tutor as a child. Your family lost their money with the rise of Grindelwald and you're the only survivor. You can't afford to be seen favouring Gryffindors - or anyone, for that matter. Don't talk any more than you have to. Keep a guard on your tongue, your prejudices betray you with every breath. You want more?"

"I think you've said more than enough," said Lupin coldly. "It's too dangerous," he insisted to Dumbledore. "What if anyone finds out who Sirius really is? I give you fair warning, I won't stand by and see the Dementors take him."

"Remus," began Black, going to his side.

"Spare us the histrionics," said Snape. "I repeat, he'll be far safer in this guise than as your 'pet.'"

"Does this mean I can't use my animagus form?" asked Black.

"I would advise against it," said Snape. While he ached with fatigue, it was impossible to stay still. His skin felt too tight and over-sensitive, the light flooding into the room made him squint and he could hardly hear what was being said for the high-pitched whine in his ears.

"Very well. If asked, Remus can say he left the dog with a friend, which leaves me free to resume the form should it be needed. I can't say I'll miss it," Black admitted.

"It must have been very wearing," said Flitwick sympathetically. "Not least because you have a fine mind - when you're given the opportunity to exercise it. I agree with Severus. They're far less likely to connect you with Pinchbeck. Should anyone ask, I can vouch for you. A young fourth cousin of mine was a private tutor until he got drunk one night. Some Red Caps lured him into a bog and that, I'm afraid, was the end of poor Aeneas. Although he had an appalling temper and was a poor teacher - "

"I wonder who that reminds me of," murmured Black provocatively but his target failed to react.

Propped against the wall, Snape's eyes were closed; it was a moment more before Black noticed the barely perceptible tremors rippling through him. With more subtlety than he was credited with, he gave Dumbledore a questioning look.

Dumbledore shook his head and quickly brought the meeting to a close.

"Thank you for your time. One last thing before you go. Severus managed to identify the scents of the last people with Argus and Majolica. Thanks to her skill with diagnostics, Poppy detected and saved enough physical evidence from the bodies to confirm that Malfoy and Nott senior both had contact with the severed heads. We have little doubt that examination of their wands would confirm their guilt - the severing spell is a simple one and it is only a matter of degree from severing cloth to severing heads. We will never know how they got Argus off-guard. That they did so is inescapable.

"Yes, indeed, it is a terrible thing," he added, but now please excuse us. Severus and I have much to discuss before he can have a well-earned rest. Minerva, you'll chair the staff meeting? Thank you. I'll see you all tonight at High Table."

 

"...It isn't that the supplies are vital, just that this close to the beginning of term it's quicker to collect them in person. I ended up being given a shopping list from everyone," added Madam Hooch ruefully, with nothing in her manner to suggest she had recently returned from the funeral of two friends. "I appreciate your help. We can divide the shops between us. I'll spare you another ride on a broomstick. We'll walk down to the gates and you can have you first Apparition lesson."

Hermione looked uneasy. "Uh, I'm not sure my concentration - "

"Apparition is a useful means of escaping danger. But your focus must be absolute, whatever might be going on around you, whatever preoccupations you may have. Unfortunately the universe doesn't grind to a halt every time we face a personal...difficulty. Thanks to Voldemort we rarely have time for the luxury of indulging our emotions," added Madam Hooch forthrightly.

"Then you'd better tell me what it is I'll need to focus on," said Hermione, swallowing her resentment. There were more important things. Besides, it would give her something to think about beyond whether he was really all right.

 

"Take your time in beginning your report," said Dumbledore, when Snape had said nothing for almost five minutes. His back to the room, one hand flat to the stone embrasure, he was staring out at the grounds, although Dumbledore doubted if he saw anything.

Gaining no response, he clasped Snape on the shoulder.

Snape swung around so fast that Dumbledore only just had time to counter Petrificus Totalus. For a moment neither wizard moved before life roared back to Snape's face; he was shaking beyond hope of concealment.

"Of all the witless, irresponsible, stupid things to do. I forgot where I was. I could have... You know I can do wandless magic and - I could have fucking killed you!" Horrified by how close to disaster they had come his hand fell to his side and he swung away, trying to regain a measure of control.

"I hope I don't need to explain that I didn't intend to startle you," said Dumbledore, his troubled gaze never leaving the too straight back presented to him. As he watched, the wide shoulders slumped.

"It wasn't that. I just - It wasn't that. I could have killed you."

"You always did have an over-exaggerated belief in your abilities," Dumbledore teased gently, blinking the moisture from his eyes. "Of course you didn't harm me, and if you had it would have been my fault."

"Small comfort that would be," Snape muttered, leaning his hot forehead against the cool of the stone while he listened to his blood thumping in his ears. "Still, Voldemort would have been pleased," he said, a few moments later. "Do you have any medichocolate?"

"No, Poppy took it away from me," replied Dumbledore, encouraged when Snape turned with the ghost of a smile. It was disconcerting having to see him through the blurring of the Appearance Detracting Charm, whose drawback was that it was only partially effective on observers who knew it was being used.

"Me, too," Snape admitted wryly. His worried gaze travelled over Dumbledore. "If I didn't hurt you, then what's wrong?"

"Nothing," lied Dumbledore, his outer calm giving no hint of his inner anguish that he could do nothing to help the younger man. "I'm glad you're home. I was concerned. What did he do to you?"

Snape's expression closed faster than a slammed door, the sinews and muscles of his face starkly visible. He swallowed audibly several times, looking around with some urgency. "I need..."

"Through there, second door on the left."

Left alone, Dumbledore winced at the sounds of retching, which came through the closed doors but he knew better than to go to Snape. Behind him, he heard the rustle of feathers as Fawkes woke up.

"No, old friend. Not yet. Not yet," he murmured. Summoning a house elf, he ordered a simple meal and drew two of the most comfortable armchairs up to the fire, which blazed so comfortingly.

After a short spell of silence he heard the distant burp and rattle of the water pipes and nodded his satisfaction. Not even the most efficient cleaning spell could equal the benison of hot water. Perhaps the ritual cleansing of the shower might help. At least Severus was safe now.

Dumbledore was sipping his second cup of Earl Grey tea when the door leading to his quarters reopened.

"My apologies for that abrupt exit," said Snape, as he came into the room, his hair slicked wetly to his skull. "Poppy warned me that I might experience an adverse reaction to the second dose of stimulants - I chose to ignore her advice."

"Just so long as you're prepared to eat a healthy dose of humble pie when you have to admit as much to her," said Dumbledore placidly, relieved to see how much better Snape looked. "Come, sit by the fire. I doubt if you can remember the last time you ate and I fasted before the funeral. Take a simple meal with me. Hot buttered toast and scrambled eggs."

"Your cure for all ills," said Snape. But he drank the ginger tea offered to him, and after the first tentative mouthful ate enough food to return a little colour to his face.

 

The temperature had dropped almost twenty degrees, a cool, thin wind causing Madam Hooch and Hermione to shiver as they completed the last of their purchases. Her cloak billowing out, Hermione subdued it with an impatient flick of her wand and wished it was as easy to control her hair, which seemed to be blowing in four different directions at once.

"For two pins I'd have the lot cut off," she said crossly. With everything in her life that mattered most outside her control, she was determined to win at least one small victory. Even with the use of charms and hair care products her hair was the bane of her life; sleek and glossy was achievable, but only after expending more time and effort than could be reasonably expected.

She slowed to a halt as a sign in a window caught her eye and glanced at Madam Hooch. "How long would it take to have my hair cut?"

"Not long, in my experience. A quick charm and - Oh. You mean by someone else. How novel. A 'hair stylist'? What will they think of next? I blame it on Muggles, myself."

"If you don't go to someone like this, who does your hair?"

"Me, of course. One charm applied once every four weeks. But I don't know anyone else who takes the trouble I do. Most people just tie their hair back and hack some off when it starts being a nuisance. Others, like Albus, just let it keep growing. As we got through the shopping so quickly why don't we go inside and find out what this 'hair styling' would entail?" Madam Hooch was prepared to welcome anything that took the frozen look from Hermione's face when she thought herself unobserved.

 

Stiffly pushing himself up from the comfort of armchair and fire, Snape began to pace around the perimeter of Dumbledore's study, as driven as an over-wound clockwork toy. Having checked that the quill could keep up with him, he began to talk in short, staccato sentences.

"I Apparated into a clearing above ground. Near the sea. I could hear it at times. And smell it. The place was sheltered from the weather. We had to pass through intense light to get to Voldemort. An irony that I'm sure was unintentional. But I've never known him to seek out the light before. He was enthroned on the most vulgar-looking piece of furniture it's been my misfortune to see. The lily was a great success, which is why I spent the interminable initiation ceremony sitting at his feet like a favourite dog, to be petted and fondled as the mood took him. Initiates climbed the twenty four steps to where he sat and prostrated themselves at his feet to receive the Dark Mark . After a while the screaming became monotonous. I was close enough to touch any of them. I could certainly smell them. There were only twenty senior Death Eaters present - all the usual suspects. The Initiation Ceremony was spread over two days. The new Death Eaters Disapparated out so quickly that some of them were still sobbing. There were a lot of people to get through."

Snape fished in an inner pocket of his academic robe to produce a large roll of parchment. "Here's a list of the one hundred and seventy three initiates. In some cases I can offer only supposition about their former school based on the scent of their clothing." He dropped the parchment on Dumbledore's desk as if it was contaminated and continued to stalk round and around the study, nervous energy pouring from him beyond his ability to conceal it.

"Viktor Krum was one of them. Which might account for him severing his relationship with Hermione. She should be told," Snape added. "But not, obviously, by me."

"Perhaps Minerva...?"

"No! Poppy or Ceres. Yourself even."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore dryly.

Snape's head came up, a wry twist to his mouth, before he returned to his report. "Of the new Death Eaters from Hogwarts, twenty were Slytherins. All from the period I've been their head of house."

"You can't blame yourself for - "

"Spare me, headmaster. One was Marcus Flint. I had hoped his acceptance by the Willoughby Whompers would keep him safe from temptation but... The Flints are a poor family and Marcus likes his creature comforts."

"I know you worked hard with him."

"Not hard enough, it would seem. There's more."

Dumbledore glanced to where the parchment sat and braced himself.

"Percy Weasley," said Snape.

"No!" Dumbledore's denial was instinctive. "That was a foolish thing for me to say," he added immediately. "What is the boy thinking of?"

While he had expected no other reaction, Snape hadn't anticipated his own fierce flare of anger on behalf of the twenty Slytherins, of whom nothing had been expected. It was a moment before he trusted himself to reply.

"Fame. Glory. Ah, no. I was forgetting. Percy is a Gryffindor. And therefore exempt from such vainglory or venality."

"How am I supposed to tell Molly and Arthur?" whispered Dumbledore.

"You can't," said Snape flatly.

"But the risk! What if they discuss Inner Circle matters with Percy? He could betray you to Voldemort."

"So could Potter."

"Percy was head boy."

"Percy was born middle-aged and he lives his life as a cliché. Do you want me to approach him?"

While tempted, Dumbledore shook his head. "It would compromise your safety. Although you won't be going back. Voldemort nearly killed you. Next time we might not be so lucky."

"I have to go back. There's too much going on. I was with him the entire time. He killed Etienne Bujold for failing to locate Sirius Black in France and ordered Malfoy to send sixty Death Eaters over there. Whether it's because he can't stand to be thwarted, or because he feels threatened by Black I couldn't say. He's wearing a cloak made from dragon-hide."

Dumbledore could never remember receiving such a disjointed report. "Dragon-hide? Interesting. I've yet to meet the charm that can penetrate that. He obviously anticipates attack from some quarter," he mused. "From within the ranks? Or outside?"

Snape shrugged. "Unfortunately the Dark Lord failed to confide in me. Lucius was looking unsettled for most of the time. Pettigrew, on the other hand, seemed more confident than ever. Malfoy seems to have started quite a trend with his walking cane. Pettigrew's taken up the affectation. Voldemort made a point of showing everyone the lily. Lucius was so irritated I could hear his teeth grinding from twenty paces. He made some disparaging comment about my attempt to curry favour and received Cruciatus for his pains."

"Is that how you gained your injuries?"

"No. After the last of the initiates had been sent on their way Voldemort took me underground again. Some Muggle-dug cave with innumerable tunnels. The walls and ceiling were decorated with shells and mirrors and sexually explicit statues. Very ugly. For the whole three days he was exuding power as if... I could feel it crawling over my skin, even when I was some distance from him. The last day he sent everyone else but myself and Pettigrew away, and even Pettigrew was banished for a while. Voldemort has a set of rooms. The light was almost blinding and they were uncomfortably hot and over-furnished. There was an odd, repellent smell to the tunnels. When he touched me it was like.." Snape's voice faltered, then steadied. "It was like being burned by ice."

His heart in his eyes, Dumbledore stared at him; a tear rolled down one cheek, although he made no attempt to speak, unable to think of anything which wouldn't make things worse.

"Spare me any Gryffindor sentimentality. I'm fine. While he looked more human, he must still be taking unicorn blood. I could smell it on him." Snape's mouth thinned with revulsion and he paused before forcing himself to continue, his gaze sliding away from Dumbledore to rest on the middle distance "He didn't...he didn't ejaculate. He didn't sleep, eat or urinate the whole time I was in his company. He wanted to know if I had found a way to circumnavigate the hex you had placed on me to stop me brewing dark potions. I told him of my plot to sabotage the Wolfsbane, which met with his approval.

"Later he opened the case the better to admire the lily. He's allergic to its pollen. Within seconds he was sneezing and coughing, and his eyes were running but his breathing certainly wasn't compromised. He destroyed the lily. The next thing I knew I was hitting the far wall of the chamber, while feeling as if half my body was still on the other side of the room. I dislocated every joint down the right side of my body and... After a while, I don't know how long, Pettigrew began to beat me with that damn cane. Then Voldemort came back. I remember Peter screaming. Then I think part of the cave ceiling gave way because I could hear this rumbling and something hit me and I lost consciousness. When I came round I was on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. You know the rest."

"You should be dead," said Dumbledore, frowning into the distance. "That Voldemort should have spared you..."

"I know," said Snape tiredly, trying to pitch his voice above the buzzing in his ears. "Hermione's suggestion that I take him a gift was inspired. He seemed more human. I don't know what use we can make of that," he added trying to find the energy to move. The stimulant should have lasted longer than this.

That was his last coherent thought for some time.

 

"Of course, he should be in the hospital wing but now the staff are back it will be difficult to get him there without attracting attention," said Madam Pomfrey briskly.

"Quite," said Dumbledore, his gaze never leaving the man on his narrow bed. Fawkes sat on the head rail, chirping some soothing nonsense. "Let him stay here. I have a spare room I can use. Is there anything I should do?"

"Just let him sleep. He's exhausted. The less he does until term starts on Monday the happier I'll be about him. I've given him something for the pain and something else to counteract the last of the stimulant. Don't worry if he stops making much sense for a while. I wish I could have given him some Dreamless Sleep Potion but the less he takes the better. Besides, I suspect he'll be needing a lot of that this term."

"Where are the children?"

"How offended they would be to hear you call them that," she said with a smile. "Harry is with Sirius. Ron and Ginny are staying with their parents in Ravenclaw Tower tonight. Hermione has just got back from Hogsmeade and has had all - well, most - of her hair cut off. She looks like a Muggle," added Madam Pomfrey, looking perplexed. "If you're concerned about Severus' condition, call me."

Dumbledore waited until she had left by Floo before going into his bedroom.

Flat on his back, Snape was awake again, and looking up at him from hollowed eyes.

"No one will disturb you and you're quite private here. Try to sleep," murmured Dumbledore.

Snape stared at him through haunted eyes. "Sleep? That's the last - I don't want to," he amended flatly. "But I'll rest. You've forgotten Fawkes."

"He intends to stay with you, so you may as well give in gracefully."

Too exhausted to argue, Snape could only nod.

"Is there anything you want? Anything at all?"

From nowhere came the overwhelming longing to see Hermione. Just to sit and listen to her cut-glass tones set the world to rights in that brisk, no-nonsense manner of hers. But he would be the last person she wanted to see, and small blame to her. He was going to miss her more than he had anticipated.

Lost in the desolation of the moment, it was some time before Snape trusted his voice.

"There's nothing," he said at last.

Dumbledore's hand hovered over the dark head, before he thought the better of imposing his touch. After a moment or two, he left the room, his face troubled.

Snape threw his forearm across his eyes but it didn't block out the memories of all those faceless ranks making the same mistake he once had. Children he had failed to reach. What was the point of experience if...? What was the fucking point?

He flinched when something warm splashed onto his cheek, then gave a quivering sigh: it was only a phoenix tear.

"Even you can't heal this," he murmured, feeling the moisture roll across his skin. "Save them for someone more worthy." But he stared up into the golden eyes, where Fawkes was leaning forward at a precarious angle, obscurely comforted. He wondered rather forlornly what it said about him if he rejected comfort from a wizard but could accept it from a bird. Not that a phoenix could be called a mere bird.

Stupid to try and pretend he had no regard for it.

Stupid to pretend...except when that was all that was left to you.

 

Grateful to be kept busy, because she couldn't stop worrying about Severus, even though she knew he was safe, Hermione completed the various errands for the headmaster, culminating in returning an armful of parchments to his study. Carefully placing them on the desk, a shot of gold caught her eye and she turned to see Fawkes popping into view.

He landed on her shoulder, running his beak through her cropped hair and she gave a wry smile, suspecting that she could add Fawkes to the lengthy list of those who disapproved of her haircut. Muggle look or not, she felt free of a bushy burden she had carried since childhood - a childhood she had left behind without really being aware of its passing.

It was a moment before she realised that Fawkes was trying to communicate with her. Following him across the study, she stopped when she found herself at an open door which obviously led into Dumbledore's private quarters. She had never even noticed the door before. Hardly surprising, given whose study this was. Then the breath caught in her throat and she forgot any thoughts of trespassing, any thoughts of anything but of the mirrored reflection of the man who had just come into her line of vision.

She froze in the bedroom doorway, drinking in the sight of him. Prone on the bed, his face turned to the door, Severus was deeply asleep, looking as boneless as if he had been fileted. His hair seemed shockingly black against the white bed linen. One arm dangling over the edge of the mattress, his long fingers skimmed the floor, as if he had been reaching out for something that had not been there.

Absorbing the wonder of the breathing, living reality of him, she began to take in more details.

It was obvious his sleep had been troubled, the sheet his only remaining cover. Tucked high on his left shoulder, he was naked to mid-buttock down his right side, one narrow, high-arched foot jutting beyond the bottom of the mattress. Every so often his foot twitched. Despite the heat in the room, the temperature elevated to keep him warm, Hermione felt cold, then hot, then cold again when she noticed the almost healed marks where someone - or thing - had gripped him at flank and shoulder. There was a fresh, blackening bruise down his shoulder, while his tanned skin clearly showed the silvery signs of recently healed wounds where the flesh of his back had been torn; they would fade totally within a week but in the meantime...

She had sent him to that. Take Voldemort a present, she had said. Everyone needs to be loved, she had said.

The tea she had drunk on her return from Hogsmeade acid in her throat, she swallowed with determination.

It was up to her to ensure he never had to go back to Voldemort again.

The castle was thrumming with activity, as Hogwarts prepared itself for the new academic year. All the staff had returned and house elves were popping in and out in a frenzy of final preparations for the arrival of the pupils on Monday. Walking around the castle as she completed her errands for Dumbledore she had been willing to swear she felt Hogwarts itself stir, as if waking from a deep sleep. But up here, in the headmaster's austere bedroom, the silence was complete, as if they were shut off from the outside world.

Her set, white face giving little indication of her inner turmoil, Hermione ignored the straight-backed chair over by the window to sink onto the floor at Snape's bedside, careful not to brush his arm. More than anything else he needed the chance to sleep. To heal, if he could.

Hardly daring to breathe, she sat watching him. The crescent of dark eyelashes did not stir and his breathing was so quiet that there were terrifying seconds when she panicked that he had died without her noticing. But the barely perceptible rise and fall of his back reassured her and little by little she began to relax.

Once again she lost herself in the bones of his face, noting their new prominence since she had seen him last. He would hate it if he knew she was watching him in the vulnerability of sleep, but even now he gave little away. Although his mouth was relaxed from the near-perpetual scowl of Snape-the-bastard, the frown line gouged between his eyebrows seemed deeper than ever. As she watched, the ridiculously long eyelashes began to flicker. He was dreaming. And not of anything pleasant from the look of him.

Her hands in her lap, she knotted her fingers to stop herself from giving in to the urge to touch him - just once, to confirm he really was safe. But she had no right to impose her needs on him. He had enough to contend with.

When Hermione finally looked up from the severe-even-in-sleep set of his mouth, it was to find Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore watching them from the doorway.

"He's asleep," Hermione said protectively, her voice pitched low.

"Yes. No need to ask how you got through the protective wards," said Madam Pomfrey, but her eyes were kind. She took some readings and nodded her satisfaction. "His stress levels have dropped by a marked degree. You'll be practising medicine yet," she added to Dumbledore.

"I felt sure we could rely on Miss Granger's good sense. And Severus needed... We all need the comfort of our friends."

"He woke once," said Hermione. "But he just said my name and went to sleep again. I doubt if he'll remember. He seemed...drugged."

"He is," confirmed Madam Pomfrey. "And he probably won't remember. What about you?"

Hermione glanced at Snape with unconscious possessiveness. "I have an excellent memory. And the headmaster's word that I won't be given any memory charms."

"Was I that specific?" murmured Dumbledore. "That was rash of me. This academic year will be a difficult one for you." The warning was as clear as if he had spelled it out.

"I know. I'll survive. Just make sure Severus does," said Hermione, before she remembered to whom she was talking.

Far from being offended or annoyed, Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah. Gryffindor women. Much is made of the ferocity in battle of a Gryffindor male but they've never seen a Gryffindor woman protect a loved one. There are several things we should discuss. You may sit with him again afterwards, I give you my word."

With some reluctance Hermione got to her feet and followed him into the study, Fawkes balanced on Dumbledore's shoulder. Once there, she was sat in front of the fire while Dumbledore updated her on the murder of the Filches, Snape's report and Sirius Black's new role.

"While, obviously, your work for your N.E.W.T.s must not suffer, I have no doubt that you'll wish to continue your work for the Inner Circle. That being so, we propose to make it known that you'll be spending much of your free time studying with Madam Pomfrey. You will be authorised to use the internal Floo in her office to go to your permanent chambers in the staff quarters, which will enable you to maintain your puzzle board of information. Given that this is the only place where all the information is on display it would be helpful if it was available to the rest of us. I wonder if we might have your permission to use your chambers for our meetings? During term-time my study is open house for the Ministry, Governors, parents, staff and teachers."

"Of course. Professor Flitwick knows the protective wards because he helped me instal them. Make whatever use of them suits you best."

"Thank you, my dear. I need hardly add that your quarters should not be used for - " Dumbledore paused.

It was a moment before Hermione appreciated what he was talking about. "Illicit liaisons?" she said, with an acid humour that was reminiscent of Snape. "You don't know him very well if you think I'd get away with that. I won't take advantage," she added in more familiar tones. "He wouldn't let me even if I wanted to." She sounded so disgruntled and unlike the studious girl he had assumed he knew that Dumbledore was hard-pressed not to smile.

"It's that tedious Slytherin honour of his," said Madam Pomfrey. "You'll have to get used to it. Once you've drunk this glass of milk and eaten a sandwich you can go back to him."

"But I'm not hungry." Pinned by that implacable gaze, Hermione took the line of least resistance and ate the meal offered to her before returning to Snape.

"Do you think that's wise?" murmured Dumbledore, as they watched her go.

"Who sent her there in the first place?" retorted Madam Pomfrey.

He raised his hand in a gesture of defeat.

"I never doubted Severus' integrity," said Madam Pomfrey, "and now that Hermione understands what it would mean to him to betray his word she'll guard his honour more closely than her own. Don't be misled by her prosaic exterior. That's her armour, just as much as Severus' sarcastic tongue is his. Now, about the girls' toilets..."

Dumbledore sighed. There were times when he almost envied Voldemort.

 

Ignoring the chair which had been placed at Snape's bedside, Hermione made herself comfortable on a nest of cushions on the floor, where she had a more intimate view of his sleeping face. There was little that was peaceful about his sleep at present. Obviously in the grip of some unpleasant dream, he was moving all the time, small twitches in the main. One foot moved convulsively, then the fingers of the hand draped over the edge of the bed. After a while an incomprehensible muttering began. Hermione forced herself not to try to comfort or wake him but the effort left livid nail marks scored in her palms as she sat watching the signs of distress intensify.

Despite her hours of studying with Madam Pomfrey she wasn't even capable of using her wand to make a diagnosis. He smelt unfamiliar; of strong potions, whose purpose she could only guess, part antiseptic, part cloying and sweet. She presumed some must have been painkillers, which meant that he hadn't suffered Cruciatus again. Which was something.

In the grip of some mounting terror, Snape eventually shocked himself awake; his breath strangling in his throat, his one visible eye snapping open. Hair clinging damply to his forehead, he was panting like an animal caught in a trap, every muscle tensed in the atavistic instinct to flee.

"You're safe, at Hogwarts. In the headmaster's quarters," she said quickly, because she couldn't bear the terror on his unguarded face. While the look of panic faded, he was frowning, as if trying to make sense of something.

Hermione cupped his cheek briefly, experiencing a fierce sense of pride when he didn't flinch at her touch, before she brushed the hair from his eyes. His skin felt damp, and warmer than it should be.

"You're safe. At Hogwarts. Do you know who I am?" she added, her voice wobbling when he just continued to stare at her, as if she was speaking in tongues.

He seemed to be having difficulty in focussing, running his tongue over his lips. His breathing returned to normal by now, he slowly relaxed as he continued to stare at her. Their faces were almost on a level and she was close enough to see the signs of recent injuries to the skin of his cheek, jaw and nose. When finally he spoke his voice was slurred and sloppy and slightly hoarse - and he said the last thing she had expected to hear from him.

"You've cut your hair."

It was only then that she appreciated that whatever potions had been given to him had been strong enough to knock out his self-imposed prohibitions. He wore the same expression as that friend of her mother's who had arrived in the middle of the night and ended up dancing naked around the bird table. She could ask him anything and the odds were that he would give an honest answer. She firmly closed the door on that particular temptation.

"Yes," she confirmed.

Coordination something of a problem, he raised his arm, his large hand languidly cupping the back of her head, fingertips caressing the silky hair which now hugged the shape of her scalp. "Why?"

It was clear something was worrying him.

Having difficulty in following his thought processes, such as they were, she stared at him, trying to concentrate on anything but the fingers now tracing the contours of her ear and the sensitive skin behind it. She kept reminding herself that he was obviously dosed up to his eyeballs, although his eye colour meant that his pupils didn't betray him.

"It was untidy and a nuisance and we saw a sign for a hair stylist while we were in Hogsmeade. So I had my hair cut. Everyone I've seen since hates it. I like it," she added with a trace of defiance.

His heavy-lidded eyes only half-open, he continued to stare, as if trying to memorize her. Then he nodded. The thumb which had been tracing her jaw line brushed across her mouth, caressing her lower lip. "'I would not freeze thee, shorn one, but am ruled as thee.'," he murmured at last.

Without being aware of what she was doing, she turned her head into his hand to nuzzle his palm; his long fingers curled against her cheek.

"I'm glad you like my hair," she said, linking their fingers for a few precious seconds. "I bought the charm which will enable me to keep it this way."

"Like...?" Squinting at her, he paused, his half-smile fading. "You're not really here, are you?" It was less a question than a statement and the accepting sadness in that plangent voice widened her eyes but she did her best not to react; now wasn't the time.

"No," she said, because it was what he needed to hear. Resolute, she eased her fingers from his.

"Good. Then you can stay."

"Yes."

As he subsided back onto the mattress she saw the Dark Mark, like a raw wound against the blue-veined pallor of his inner arm. She neither avoided the mark or set out to touch it. He moved slightly, so that his face brushed her bare forearm, where it rested beside him. It was their only point of contact and awareness of him ripped through her all over again.

"I like this dream. You even smell right. Of Hermione. Home."

The satisfaction in his drug-slurred voice tightened her throat as the significance of his reaction sank hilt-deep in her heart. He had lied. He had told her he didn't care and it had been a lie.

She watched his eyes close, the muscles of his face slowly beginning to relax and supposed him to be asleep when that slurred, sloppy voice drifted back into the silence.

"'Though I conquer all the earth

Yet for me there is only one city.

In that city there is for me only one house;

And in that house one room only;

And in that room, a bed.

And one woman sleeps there,

The shining joy and jewel of my kingdom.'"

His nose brushing the inner curve of her elbow, Snape fell asleep inhaling her scent.


	20. Chapter 20

TWENTY

 

Hermione spent what remained of Saturday night in her Upper Sixth cubicle. She hadn't wanted to change rooms because doing so meant acknowledging how much her life was about to alter; equally, she knew she needed time to slip back into her role of the school swot, worried only about her N.E.W.T.s and what she would do when she left Hogwarts. All she knew was who she wanted beyond any one or thing else.

It was impossible not to think of what he had said, or of what it could mean for their future - if he would let it.

Hermione exhaled slowly. It would be up to her then. Eventually.

Patience had never been her strong suit; she had never been good at waiting. She was going to have to learn how, if only for his sake.

He had been sleeping more naturally by the time she had left his bedside. Uncomfortably aware of Dumbledore's all-seeing gaze she hadn't lingered, afraid that she might betray them both. She was torn between exhilaration and disbelief that Severus should have taken over her inner life before she was aware of it. She dare not risk seeking out the conscious man until she had found a way to control this compulsion to beam at everyone she met. He must never know how much he had revealed.

Her only illumination a squat, fat candle of the finest beeswax, Hermione studied the cubicle which would be her home for the next year. It felt cramped and dark after her chambers; she didn't even want to think what the dungeons must seem like to Severus after the light and luxurious comfort of Serpens Tower.

Idly petting a gently vibrating Crookshanks, who had spread out to occupy a good half of her chaste, single bed, she stared up at the ceiling until her eyelids sank shut. She fell asleep to the memory of Severus' soft, slurred voice. But when she awoke four hours later she was shivering after a nightmare in which his declaration had been no more than a drug-induced delirium.

 

Starting awake, Snape's nagging sense that he had forgotten something important was lost when he had to head for the bathroom at an undignified run. The fever was back, accompanied by an irritating skin rash, vomiting and diarrhea. He felt too apathetic to put up much argument when Madam Pomfrey insisted he return to the hospital wing. Her interminable tests indicated he was suffering from an allergic reaction to the minute traces of unicorn blood discovered in the soft tissue samples she had taken from him.

Snape felt sure he would have a better appreciation of the irony when his body stopped voiding itself on the hour.

"Fortunately your system is taking steps to rid itself of the poison, although I'm afraid you're in for an uncomfortable twenty four hours or so," said Madam Pomfrey, her manner brisk because anything else made him uneasy.

"Oh joy." Snape propped himself against the wall in an attempt to convince himself there was nothing brushing his shoulder. "My first class is on Tuesday morning."

"You'll be fine by then," she soothed, knowing what she was really being asked. "You would do better to stay in bed but provided you don't attempt to do too much, you'll come to no harm. Drink this. I've rehydrated you but you must maintain a high intake of fluid and... Never mind. Take one of these every three hours." She presented him with a twenty four hour supply of tiny phials. "Then one of those every four hours." These phials were larger. "Don't start sniffing them. No one would be stupid enough to try and poison a Potions Master - unless he had a bad head cold, of course."

Her witticism met only with a raised eyebrow.

"Eat, if you can keep anything down. Don't take Antiquease or any of the..." She trailed into silence under the influence of a hard stare.

"Difficult as it seems to be for you to remember, as a Potions Master I was required to have some rudimentary knowledge of medicine." Snape's crushing manner would have been more effective if he hadn't been forced to retreat to the bathroom again.

Awash with ginger tea and her infernal solicitude, he finally escaped to the silence of the dungeons. He paused at the closed door of the Potions classroom and took a steadying breath before entering the set of rooms which all too often seemed like a prison. Ridiculous. The holidays had made him soft. But having emerged from the cell in which he had imprisoned his emotions for so many years he wasn't sure how successful he was going to be at closing the door once more.

Sentimental clap-trap, he thought, irritable with himself, before he started to check all the work Black - Pinchbeck - had done here.

 

The pain from his scar waking him just before dawn, Harry abandoned the pretence of resting with something like relief and headed down to the Great Hall for an extremely early breakfast.

Hermione was already there, her elbows on the table, both hands wrapped around the steaming mug from which she was drinking. She paused to give him a sleepy grin; while the welcome in it was unmistakable, he knew the signs and left her to finish her coffee in peace while he continued to study her surreptitiously.

Her new haircut was...disconcerting. It made her look older and more like a stranger than his bushy-haired conscience. Of course, that had never stopped her from breaking the rules alongside them - it just meant she lectured them the whole time. The more worried she got, the more she lectured. Without her and Ron he'd be dead three times over. And lonely. It wasn't that he didn't get on with plenty of people - the Quidditch team, for one - but she just saw him, Harry, not The Boy Who Lived. Of course, so did Ron nowadays, although there had been that bumpy patch. Funny really. Now he was the one envying Ron.

Maybe Voldemort had gone bad because he hadn't had a sex life either, thought Harry, sitting opposite her. Maybe that was his fate; kill Voldemort and then take his place as the new dictator. Compulsory Quidditch, followed by hours of sex - or would the other way round be best? World domination might have something going for it after all. But he shivered, despite himself, uneasy with the implications - just as he was uneasy about the power which seemed to possess him, rather than the other way around.

"Harry? Are you all right? You look horrible. Is it your scar again?" asked Hermione, matter of fact because that always worked best with him.

It didn't occur to Harry to lie: not to Hermione. "It's not as bad as it was earlier in the week. I don't know what Voldemort was doing."

"He was initiating one hundred and seventy three new Death Eaters," she murmured. It was difficult to remember that they were no longer private since the return of the rest of the staff.

"Snape was there?"

"Keep your voice down. For over three days," Hermione added, staring into her empty mug. "He nearly died this time. He should be back in the hospital wing instead of - He collapsed yesterday."

Pushing aside the memory of his collision with Snape, Harry placed an order for breakfast. Pouring himself some pumpkin juice, he moodily swirled around a seed that was floating in his glass.

It was all very well trying to keep his distance - to keep Hermione and Ron safe - but if he'd really meant it he should never have stayed with the Weasleys. Only he hadn't been able to resist the temptation. After two and a half months of the Dursleys, where he'd been shut in his bedroom for most of the time, he'd felt as if he was going to explode. Even the post he'd got had just kept reminding him of Hedwig. He'd missed her even more than he had expected. The owl the school had lent him wasn't the same. Not that you could call Hedwig affectionate exactly. Owls weren't. But she'd been his to look after and love and...

Everyone who loved him or got too close ended up dead, sooner or later. He didn't want that happening to Ron or Hermione but couldn't think how to make them back off.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked abruptly.

Hermione put down her mug. "Anything," she said simply, hoping he hadn't somehow discovered about Severus and her. Not yet - or preferably ever.

"You know that being friends with me could get you and Ron killed?" Harry stopped, unable to think of a way to go on that wouldn't embarrass them both.

The caffeine seeping into her system, Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Well, the first year probably gave us a clue. Though I don't know why you're so quick to take the credit. Voldemort is the one killing people, not you."

"I know that but I've been thinking. Maybe you and Ron shouldn't..." His voice tailed away under the influence of her glare. "It was just a thought," he said weakly.

Hermione continued to study him for an unnerving few seconds. "You're an idiot," she said finally.

Harry's head ducked down to hide his relieved smile. "Yeah. I just... I missed you," he added abruptly, ruining the effect by sounding surprised. Her grin was pure Hermione and it occurred to him that somewhere down the line she had become quite attractive. He had the sense not to mention that. "OK, so that came out wrong, but you know what I meant."

"The scary thing is, I do," she said affectionately.

"I should have come back here to be with you instead of watching Quidditch," Harry added. "I've been a real arse-hole these holidays."

"Don't be silly. I would have been rotten company - and you wouldn't have been much better, brooding over the Quidditch matches you were missing. Really," she added. Her smile and the gentle kick she gave him under the table were all the confirmation Harry required that everything really was all right.

"Thanks." He took a fortifying gulp of pumpkin juice and doggedly did his duty. "If you want - you know - to talk. About your feelings and stuff."

With the best will in the world Hermione couldn't contain her splutter of amusement. "I'm tempted to say yes just to watch you suffer. Those mushrooms look good. I forgot to order any," she mused, eyeing his plate.

Harry watched with resignation as she helped herself to half of them.

"Where's Ron?" asked Hermione, through an unladylike sized mouthful of food.

"With his mum and dad, I suppose. Everything's going to be so different this term. Ron. You. Mrs Weasley."

Hermione's grin broadened.

"Ron told you," recognised Harry with gloom.

"You didn't think he'd be selfish enough to keep it to himself?"

"I'll kill him," said Harry, applying marmalade to his toast with a liberal hand. "It was just...a shock. She's so..."

"Pregnant," completed Hermione. "It's a perfectly natural process."

"Don't you start. I've had all this from Mrs Weasley. Then she started talking about her and Mr Weasley... You know, doing it."

"Ah," said Hermione with a grimace. "Yes, mum and dad could be like that."

Harry made haste to change the direction of the conversation. "I didn't expect to see anyone else down here. Couldn't you sleep?"

"Crookshanks woke me," lied Hermione.

"This summer must've been gruesome with only the staff for company. To talk to, I mean."

"They were great. They've been really nice to me."

"Snape, nice?"

With a rush of relief Hermione realised that she could do this. The Snape of the classroom and the man she loved were different enough to make it possible.

"In his way," she said non-committally.

"Don't tell me, he only had you cleaning cauldrons for half the summer."

"He let me help prepare the ingredients for the Wolfsbane."

"Yeah?" Harry looked interested despite himself, and the conversation moved into safer waters. "So, d'you think you could make it now?"

Hermione began a patient explanation about the complexity of the Wolfsbane.

***

 

Satisfied that all the wards required to prevent any pupils damaging themselves irreparably were in place around his classroom, Snape began a meticulous survey of supplies and equipment. He flinched when his plait brushed the back of his neck, each unexpected contact bringing a lurching sense of panic.

The fifth time it happened he stalked through to the back of his office and opened the concealed door to his quarters. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he waved away the Appearance Detracting Charm, wanting no distractions. His hair clung sweatily to his forehead, his skin was the colour of cheese and his face consisted of harsh lines and hollows, bisected by the jut of his nose. He could see nothing about himself that could possibly make Voldemort -

He resolutely slammed the door on that train of thought, shivering when something tickled his ear.

This much he could do something about. Without giving himself time to think, he took out his wand and abruptly severed his plait. He appreciated his mistake only when the ragged ends of his butchered hair became more of an annoyance. Handful by handful, he traversed his scalp, savagely cropping his hair down to uneven, inch long spikes. But even after he had showered and changed his clothing the memory of the icy brush of fingers remained.

 

Dumbledore made no attempt to announce his presence as he stood in the doorway of the Potions classroom, which was lit by the sun pouring through windows set high in the cliff-facing wall. The open doors of one of the deep cupboards and the faint clink of bottles and vials betrayed Snape's whereabouts. In times of stress Severus was usually to be found pottering amongst the raw materials of his craft, if he wasn't actually brewing - although time for research had been severely reduced in recent years.

"If you're intending to stay there for any length of time you could always make yourself useful," said Snape as he came into view. "There's a lot to be done."

Dumbledore's face tightened as he absorbed the change to Snape's appearance. Worldly enough to suspect what lay behind it, he wondered what was the point of living to his great age if he had learnt so little about helping those who needed it most. But now wasn't the time to speak of that. He never seemed to find the right time where Severus was concerned and those failures weighed heavily.

"Nonsense," he said, with nothing in his mild tone to betray him. "Siri - Professor Pinchbeck attended to everything last night."

"That's hardly news, I could smell his reek the moment I walked in here."

"Has he neglected something?"

"I would be negligent if I failed to check. No pupil has ever come to any serious harm while I've been teaching Potions - which is more than can be said of my predecessors."

"That's true." Motes of sunlit dust only increased the eerie atmosphere of the room which, of all the classrooms, was the most theatrical - right down to the dais on which Snape's desk stood. Dumbledore peered up at the tall jars squatting on a shelf above him and shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask what that is floating in that large bottle up there."

Snape followed the line of his gaze. "I don't think I could tell you - except to confirm they aren't alive. Every year Ceres finds me increasingly gruesome specimens from the plant world. She's excelled herself this year. I've put them where I won't have to look at them."

"You'll give the first years nightmares."

Snape closed the cupboard. "The day I need to rely on trickery to do that is the day I resign. Although I suppose we could tell them they're the remains of pupils who failed their Potions exams..."

"Severus..."

"A little healthy fear does no one any harm."

"You don't feel Voldemort is providing enough fear?" Dumbledore rushed back into speech when he became aware of the two-edged possibilities of that remark. "When I think how cosy this room used to be under old Professor Boyle - yes, you can imagine the jokes. Dear me, I haven't thought of her for almost a hundred and forty years. I know you complain about our academic standards but compared to those days... She was no Potions Master. In fact I used to have the impression that her level of knowledge was approximately one chapter ahead of ours. Her classes were lively affairs. I still have a couple of scars. Of course, she blew herself up in the end. Brought down the whole ceiling. The classes were on the other side of the dungeons, near Remus'...

"Cell," offered Snape dryly.

"Quite. I'm glad to see you've omitted the walls running with damp this year."

"Poppy made me dry them out." Snape's regret was obvious. "I would activate the Green Crawler again but its explosive qualities made it unsuitable. The last thing first years need is encouragement to blow things up."

"At least you won't get bored," pointed out Dumbledore cheerfully.

Snape studied him. "You might want to remember that I know one hundred and eighty nine ways to poison you."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "So few?"

Snape paused. "I sometimes forget you're not just a batty old man put here to drive me insane. You've probably forgotten more about Potions than I'll ever know. Don't you miss the work?"

"Sometimes," said Dumbledore honestly. "The years spent working with Nicholas were some of the happiest of my life. But Hogwarts takes most of my attention these days - it goes with the position of headmaster, unless we can find a Warden. And given that there hasn't been one for what - three hundred years?"

"Can't Minerva - ?"

"The only penalty of having an Animagus as my deputy is the fact she can't communicate with ... But don't twit her about it. She does the work of two people already."

"Give me some credit," said Snape sourly.

"Batty I may be - "

"Ah. I suppose I should apologise for that."

Dumbledore's smile was one of pure affection. "Why change the habits of a lifetime?"

Snape gave him an edgy look. It always disconcerted him that he should find something oddly comforting about Dumbledore's presence - although it was probably no more than his need for the approval of a male authority figure. An approval that had been signally lacking throughout his life.

Until the incident with the whomping willow he had sought it from Dumbledore. After that betrayal he'd focussed on Voldemort. Then back to Dumbledore, expecting from him more than was reasonable just because he was Albus Dumbledore.

Frowning against a tension headache, Snape looked up to find Dumbledore watching him; recognising the concern behind the calm, he suddenly realised what must have brought the older man down to the Potions classroom. "You needn't concern yourself about me. I'm fine," he said brusquely.

The times when Dumbledore focussed his full attention and power on someone were rare, and daunting in the extreme.

Snape gasped at the unleashed power which suddenly flooded the room - all directed at him. It would have been easier to stare into the sun than sustain the blazing blue stare which seemed to strip him of all his secrets. As if he wasn't naked enough. As if... He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting for control.

"Not concern myself?" echoed Dumbledore, his voice cracking on the last word. He took Snape's cold hands in a warm grasp. "I know I fail you time and time again but do you imagine that I permit you to go to Voldemort lightly? That I wouldn't give... Oh, child. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry for failing you."

It was the pain spilling from those blue eyes which stopped Snape from protesting as he was eased into an embrace and the back of his shorn head cradled by a thin hand. Awkwardly trying to comfort the older man, Snape inhaled the scent of lemon and sunshine and was comforted in his turn.

Mindful of the illegal, no doubt dangerous, and often sick beasts Hagrid would doubtless acquire this term, Snape took him a supply of basic potions, waved aside a concerned query about his own health and headed back to the castle. Habit made him head in the direction of Serpens Tower, before he remembered. In urgent need of a bathroom, Snape made use of the one in Hermione's chambers because he knew from Dumbledore that she had moved into the Upper Sixth Dormitory.

Waiting for his legs to stop shaking after another exhausting bout of nausea, he swallowed his medication and slumped onto the chaise longue in the corner of the bathroom suite whose opulent splendour was in marked contrast to the shabby, but oddly familiar comfort of the main rooms. He wondered if this, too, was Hermione's choice. It seemed unlikely but he had little enough information on which to base that supposition - and no chance of increasing his expertise, he reminded himself bleakly.

She had left a selection of toiletries on the sink, as if she had intended to pack them but had forgotten them at the last moment. Not that she would need the anti-tangle conditioner with her newly styled hair, which made her look -

He closed his eyes and concentrated on not vomiting again.

 

Thanks to her appallingly early start to the day the morning seemed endless to Hermione, who spent the three hours after breakfast helping Professor Vector. Dodging Professor Trelawney, Hermione headed back to her chambers to move the last of the belongings she would need during term time. She was busy reducing books and parchments when a noise made her glance up to see Snape in the doorway that led to her bathroom and bedroom. Disconcerted by the blurring effect of the Appearance Detracting Charm, which was only partially effective for those who knew it was in place, it was a moment before she noticed the severely cropped hair, which served only to accentuate the bony promontories of his over-controlled face. His skin had a faint, greenish tinge to it, shadows like bruises under his eyes. If she had hoped for some sign of pleasure she was disappointed.

"I'll leave you to your packing," he said, eyeing her without interest.

"Don't," she protested involuntarily. "I haven't seen you since yesterday and - " She stopped.

Snape tried and failed to pin down an elusive memory. "Yesterday?" His gaze lingered on her hair, his frown deepening as he appreciated he had no idea what she was talking about - or how he had known she'd cut her hair. That gap in his memory, allied to yet another loss of control, made his skin crawl.

"Uh, yes," said Hermione, worried by the expression on his face. "The headmaster and Madam Pomfrey were kind enough to let me sit with you for a short while."

"Why? Have I become a spectator sport?"

The bitterness in his voice made her flinch. "It was for my benefit, not yours. I was worried about you," she added simply.

It silenced him, as little else could have done.

"Herm - Miss Granger - you - "

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she snapped. She thought she had been prepared and was discovering her mistake, devastated at being treated like a troublesome schoolgirl by this chilly stranger. "The world won't stop turning just because you call me Hermione. Nothing happened, all right? You said you liked my haircut and you fell asleep again. Madam Pomfrey had you drugged to the eyeballs."

"Ah," said Snape. He had assumed that had been a dream. Despite himself his gaze returned to her hair.

"Don't tell me you were just being polite?" Hermione was rewarded with an easing of the tension lines around his mouth.

"It has an unlikely ring to it. You have a pretty neck. And I shouldn't be noticing that," he added irritably, a moment later. "It's nothing to grin about. You haven't done anything clever." He couldn't shake off the feeling that something else had happened; her eyes were virtually glowing. "While you were sitting with me, did I - ?"

"Don't panic," Hermione, disappointment adding an edge to her voice. "You didn't talk in your sleep, or snore, or dribble." She could hear herself babbling as she struggled to keep him with her until she could find a way to reopen the lines of communication. "Your virtue, or what's left of it, was quite safe with me."

His only betrayal was the tensing of his jaw and the flicker of his eyes. "Don't be impertinent."

Something in his voice caught her attention but it took a moment's mental backtracking to appreciate what she had said. Then the significance of his rigidly controlled body and face, the retreat into academic clothing - even the savagely cropped hair - all made a terrible sense.

The wave of protective rage which swept over her was so intense that it made her shake. Burning with the primeval need for revenge, her wand hand twitched even while there was an unpleasant thumping noise in her ears which blocked out everything else, sweat cold on her clammy skin. Voldemort had raped him. She'd sent him back to that.

"Sit down. What's wrong? Are you ill?" For a too brief moment the back of Severus' hand rested against her forehead. "I can't tell if you have a fever." He sounded distracted.

"Unlike you, I don't. Just - " How to account for her reaction? Her mind went blank before it cleared. "I haven't been sleeping," she said, her voice flat It was her right to share this with him - to offer any comfort it was in her power to give. But it wasn't what he wanted or needed from her and so she must feign ignorance.

And it hurt like hell, bringing the reality of their non-relationship home to her as little else could have done.

"I've never seen you look like this before," said Snape, unconvinced.

"The only other time I experienced this level of stress was when my parents were murdered. And if you ask why I've been so worried about you I swear I'll hex you," Hermione added pugnaciously.

As declarations of affection went it was quite subtle by Gryffindor standards. She looked so fierce that Snape found it difficult to subdue a smile. "You might try to," he said, all his good resolutions melting away under the balm of her presence.

"Given that you look as if a puff of wind could blow you over, it wouldn't be much of a challenge. I'll wait until you've got your strength back. I'm surprised you're still talking to me," Hermione added bleakly.

"Why?" To his relief some colour had returned to her face.

"Voldemort beat you to pieces. I wanted to keep you safe, instead my suggestions almost got you killed." She was close enough to notice the exquisite detailing on the seams to the raised collar of the jacket he wore beneath his academic robes. There was a small piece of fluff marring the perfection of the matt black and she brushed it away with unthinking intimacy.

Snape gave no sign of noticing anything unusual. "Why do all Gryffindor's feel compelled to over-dramatize? While I realise this will come as a shock to you, I make my own choices."

Hermione opened her mouth.

"And you needn't bother to point out how well some of those turned out," Snape anticipated.

Rather than bitterness she saw only a concern for herself and a certain wry humour. Anything else he might be feeling was hidden away for him to deal with by himself, as was obviously his habit. She did her best to respond in kind.

"Even I'm not that tactless."

He made no attempt to control the smile that lit his tired face. "Self-deception is a wonderful thing," he murmured.

"I could say the obvious," she pointed out blandly.

"Damn, now you've got me setting traps for myself," said Snape, before he sighed. "We shouldn't be having this conversation."

"Bollocks," she said forthrightly.

"Hermione!"

"Oh, please," she said, looking pained. "There's nothing improper about the fact we enjoy one another's company. One kiss didn't change that, whatever else it did." Her gaze slid from his mouth. "More than anything else, you've become a friend. And while I'd rather not, I worry about my friends. I won't make a nuisance of myself."

Snape gave her a look of incredulity and muttered something incomprehensible.

"I presume that was an insult," she said with resignation.

He could see all the small marks of stress that hadn't been there a week ago - and the effort she was making. And while he knew what he should do, that cruelty was beyond him. "More a plea for patience. Save your concern for those who need it. Will you stop - ? I'm fine," he added in a goaded tone, spurred into speech by nothing more than the honesty of her gaze.

"I thought Slytherins were supposed to be skilled liars. That would have been more convincing if you didn't look so awful," she said frankly, surprising him into a huff of amusement.

"If you're serious about wanting to become a mediwitch you'll need to work on your bedside manner."

"But you don't think I will, do you? Become a mediwitch, I mean," Hermione added.

Snape propped himself against the wall. "Are you asking for my advice?"

"Would you give it?"

He gave the faintest of smiles. "No."

"Not even if I asked for it?"

"That would be different. However, I doubt if you need me to tell you something you've already discovered for yourself."

"That I'm not cut out to be a mediwitch? I know. So does Madam Pomfrey. Though I'll learn all I can from her and maintain the cover the headmaster has established. But when it comes to the S Levels and what to do when I leave Hogwarts... I need to learn the spells to help with languages. Listening to you and Professor Flitwick... Some of those ancient texts... So much we still don't understand. So much knowledge still waiting to be brought to life. I'm going to ask him if he'll allow me to take Charms at S Level and later, if he'll have me, I'd like to become his Pupil. And to work on Ancient Runes with Bill - Professor Weasley, I mean. Though I don't think I'd just want to do research. I like people too. I think I'd be a good teacher. I know I haven't done any but there have been times when someone has been stuck with their homework and I've explained something and I've seen what I've said click and it sets them free to start thinking for themselves..." Words were rushing over themselves, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. "You know what I mean," she said with certainty.

"Yes," agreed Snape, eyeing her with a mixture of affection and respect.

Hermione grimaced. "Yes, of course you do, or you wouldn't be letting first years drive you crazy. Have you seen Madam Pomfrey today?"

The abrupt change of subject caught him by surprise, his expression closing, the smile fading from his eyes. "Regrettably, yes. I have a minor allergy, that's all. It should pass in another twenty four hours."

"Oh. Good. What are you allergic to - the Centennial lily?"

"No. Irony of ironies to Voldemort - as he is now." Rather than the flippancy he had intended the raw pain in his roughened voice betrayed him. Humiliated, he swung away.

"Hardly surprising, given what he must be doing to himself to stay even vaguely human," said Hermione quickly, afraid Severus would complete his withdrawal. "I know you must be busy but before you go may I ask you a favour? I wondered if I could borrow books from your library? The Muggle portion of it, I mean. I hadn't read much fiction before I came here and I haven't read any since. There are so many fields of learning that... But I've realised that there always will be. It's time I learnt something about Muggle literature. I thought I could start with poetry."

"And get it over with?" inquired Snape, his expression thawing as he turned back to her.

"Something like that," admitted Hermione, in the tone of one making a clean breast of things. "I have to start somewhere - and poetry is shorter."

"And the lines don't usually go to the end of the page. Entertaining as this farrago of nonsense is, you forget, I saw the books we brought back from your former home. The secret of a convincing lie is total conviction - and keep it simple."

"You might give me credit for trying."

"You must be confusing me with someone else. What really happened last night?" Snape added, in the same pleasant tone.

Pinned by his steady gaze Hermione discovered she couldn't lie to him - but equally, she avoided telling the whole truth. "Nothing much. Except that you quoted some poetry one of the times you woke up. I'm not going to tell you what it was because you'll only sneer and spoil it."

"Romantic then." Snape looked as if he had sucked on a particularly acid lemon.

"It could be taken that way. Not in the moon, June, spoon sense, of course."

Snape looked revolted. "I should hope not."

Her grin was devoid of sentimentality. "No surprise there then. Why do you read Muggle literature?"

He allowed her to steer the conversation into less intimate waters because he had no wish to wonder how much he might have betrayed. "Because wizards have little artistic ability."

"I suppose they channel all their creativity in magic," she mused.

"They?" picked up Snape. "You're one of us."

"Not completely," said Hermione with decision. "I don't think anyone Muggle-born can be. But I don't feel the need to apologise for the fact any more. I'm quite happy the way I am, with a foot in both worlds."

"Good," said Snape, looking unsurprised.

"You knew?"

"I'm a teacher. I'm supposed to notice these things."

Hermione gave him a brooding look. "You can be horribly smug."

"Not smug, right."

She gave him a fulminating glare and Snape firmly quashed the desire to kiss her.

"Is it so difficult to integrate the two worlds?" he asked.

"It's mostly irrelevant at school. But in a year I'll be leaving. And I have no idea what the wizard world outside Hogwarts is like."

Snape got to his feet. "Borrow anything you want from my library. I know I can rely on your discretion. There are some volumes I would prefer you didn't read. You'll recognise them when you come across them."

She nodded and wondered if he had any idea how much it meant to her to know she still had his trust. "I'm going to miss our discussions," she whispered, the enormity of her loss sweeping over her. "And you."

His expression closed. "It will pass," he said, coolly dismissive.

Hermione rarely lost her temper, and apart from the odd PMS-induced moments of tetchiness regarded herself as easy to get on with. Fear for him, guilt, longing and raw lust saw her good resolutions go up like sun-dried grass to a naked flame.

"If I wanted sex with you do you think it's beyond me to get it?" she demanded, stalking over to him. He gave ground instantly, trusting his self-control no more than hers. "If the obvious method of knocking you off your moral-principled perch failed - though I don't think it would - I'd simply brew some Polyjuice, give it to one of my over-sexed classmates, and spend the next two hours fucking the image of you legless. But I won't because it's you I want. Not just the place where you keep your brain most of the time." She gestured in the general direction of his groin. "Though I want that too. I want..."

There was a stark, lust-filled silence.

Hermione slumped onto the broad arm of a sofa with an audible sigh before rubbing her face with her hands. They were shaking, sexual tension crackling through her like lightning.

"I shouldn't have said that. Any of it." Her voice was flat and lifeless and she was avoiding his gaze.

"And I should have left immediately," said Snape quietly.

She looked up at that, heartened by the fact he hadn't turned on her, or simply walked out. "I'm glad you didn't. I'm sorry about suggesting you keep your brain in... You don't deserve that. You're not nearly as bad as Harry or Ron."

Resting against the wall, Snape's expression thawed as yet again his sense of humour came to the rescue.

"Not the compliment I was hoping for," he said unsteadily, afraid that if he laughed she'd remember she was a witch and hex him into next week. Although quite why his prick should find that so... Grateful for the voluminous folds of his robes, he changed his stance.

It belatedly occurred to him that he had lost any pretence of being in control of this exchange - let alone of their relationship. It wasn't as if he hadn't been warned. Over the last six years he had seen what she was like with Harry and Ron - with any of her friends. He'd wager every knut in his vault that she would boss him to death most of the time - without ever realising she was doing it.

And he?

He was obviously doomed because he could think of far worse fates than allowing Hermione Granger to believe she was running his life for him. He massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a tension headache but when he looked up Hermione was staring at him. She still looked as if she'd been hit on the head by a bludger. Not yet ready for canonisation, Snape felt a prickle of very male gratification that he'd taught her more about lust than that pipsqueak Krum. And Pilgrims of Love with bad timing were no competition. He'd do more than write a sonnet to her breasts.

Oh fuck... He really should leave. He refocused to find Hermione watching him, a worried frown in place.

"I don't know what came over me just now," she murmured. "Well, yes I do. I just never anticipated it would be so hard to... I thought I'd got the hang of lust," she said in a rush, managing to meet his eyes despite the embarrassed heat which rose on her face.

Her emotional courage demanded some acknowledgement, even though he knew it was unwise. "Me too," he said dryly, cursing his self-indulgence when he saw that the sparkle had returned to her eyes.

She studied him for several disconcerting moments. "Thank you. I don't think I could have stood a lie. Not now. And I know," she anticipated, "we shouldn't be having this conversation." Her tone became brisk as she moved away. "I only came to collect the last of my things. I'll see to that after the meeting of the Inner Circle this afternoon. I know this term - this year - will be difficult. But you've lived a double life for years so if, just occasionally, here, in these rooms - if we could talk. Just talk, I swear. As ourselves..." The plea in her voice was unmistakable.

"It's going to be difficult enough to resume my usual role without - "

"I know. And any distraction could be dangerous for you." Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe I should give up Potions."

"You'll do no such thing," he said immediately.

"And how are you going to stop me?"

With the experience to see what was happening, Snape swallowed his instinctive retort and parted his hands in a gesture of conciliation. "All I can do is appeal to your usual good sense. I agree that it would undoubtedly be easier for both of us - except for the gossip it would cause about why the best all-round student Hogwarts has seen for years drops one of the key subjects." He willed the nausea away.

"There is one obvious solution." said Hermione slowly, the idea still formulating as she spoke. "Everyone will soon find out that I've spent the summer at Hogwarts, with you. Let it be known that I have a crush on you. How would Voldemort like the news that one of Harry's best friends is in love with you?"

"Attempt to put that plan into action and I'll Obliviate you myself and be damned to it," said Snape violently, as the horror of what she had proposed sank home. "One of us as his toy is quite enough. If you imagine I'm prepared to stand by and watch you - "

Swallowing hard, he was forced to retreat to the bathroom. By the time he was able to return to the sitting room Hermione was gone. A rolled up parchment with his name on it jumped up and down until he noticed it and picked it up. It seemed odd that her writing should seem so familiar when everything else between them had changed. Although quite when he had admitted that to himself was a mystery. Wary of what she might be proposing now, he smoothed the parchment on the table top, his palms flat on the wood as he read it.

It was a stupid idea - the penalty of thinking aloud. And of course I'll continue with Potions. Despite my lapse today, you can trust me not to let you down.

Please be careful. You already know me better than anyone else alive. I want the chance to be able to say the same about you in the years to come.

'There's some ginger tea cooling on the desk. You should try to eat something - perhaps dry toast?

It was clear she had resisted signing it only at the last moment, a small blot of ink betraying her. Snape rubbed his thumb over the spot, his expression unconsciously softening. This was the first personal communication - and the shortest parchment - he had ever received from her. After reading it for the third time he gently placed it in the fire and stood watching until it was quite burnt away, the soft, grey ashes floating up the chimney.

A few moments later, Dumbledore's head appeared in the flames, requesting that he meet him in the headmaster's study.

Ron's early morning meeting with Dumbledore had killed his appetite for the breakfast which had been offered to him. He finally left the headmaster's study caught between exhilaration, pride and terror at the trust being placed in him. There was also a small part of him that wished he could have stayed in ignorance, happily chasing girls, supporting Harry and doing as little work for his N.E.W.T.s as he could get away with.

Needing to collect his thoughts, he spent a couple of hours walking in the most secluded part of the grounds as he tried to come to terms with his new responsibilities. A combination of a rumbling stomach and the realisation that he was putting off the inevitable sent him back inside. He headed for the rooms Dumbledore had told him had been allocated to Hermione, and that would be used by the Inner Circle for meetings and study during term-time, because only here could they be certain they wouldn't be interrupted.

Ron studied the puzzle board, frowning at the morass of information. Typical Hermione, she'd try to cover every possible contingency instead of narrowing down the field to the most likely method of defeating Voldemort. Which meant facing up to him - taking the attack to him rather than constantly trying to defend, while all around them innocent Muggles and wizards were killed for sport.

There seemed a lot of material to be read and no obvious reading order. Sighing, Ron picked up the first parchment.

The greatest shock concerned what he read about Snape. It didn't require much of a stretch of the imagination to see him as a Death Eater - Harry was going to love getting confirmation about that! - but it was far harder to accept that he was on their side and that he had been for longer than they'd been alive.

Snape heroically protecting Harry behind the scenes beggared belief, thought Ron as he tucked into the plate of roast beef sandwiches a house elf brought him for lunch.

But Ron's expression changed when he read the various reports from the previous year - most written in the flowing hand of the automatic quill spell they were forbidden to use, although some of the later ones were in Hermione's cramped handwriting. Pushing away a half-eaten sandwich, the reality of what they were facing began to sink in.

Rape and repeated torture by Cruciatus... Two years of... His new-found sophistication curling up at the edges, he stared into the middle distance.

No one deserved that.

It would be the least of it if Voldemort won. It didn't do to forget that - not least for the sake of his unborn brothers or sisters. Whatever it cost, Voldemort couldn't be permitted to win. He'd done enough damage to Ginny. People thought she'd got over her first year, when in truth she'd just got better at camouflaging what she felt.

It occurred to Ron how little he knew about what his own sister really thought about things.

How much the mind of the Tom Riddle of that diary had in common with Voldemort remained to be seen, but he should speak to Ginny. Pick her brains. And probably rekindle those nightmares she'd been having since her first year, he accepted glumly, as it occurred to him there could be consequences far worse than that ahead of them.

Staring gloomily at the stack of parchments waiting to be read, he unfastened another fat document filled with automatic quill writing and began to read.

Five minutes later, a crumpled parchment in one hand, his wand in the other, he stormed into Dumbledore's office. He stopped dead when he found himself facing Snape, who sat on a straight-backed oak chair.

"You fucking liar!" yelled Ron, tossing the parchment in Snape's face. It hit him on the cheek, rebounded onto his chest and fell to the floor.

"That will do, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore from behind him, just before he relieved Ron of his wand and tucked it up his own sleeve.

Far from being grateful, Snape looked exasperated. "Albus, this isn't helping anything."

"And you think being blasted through the wall of my office will achieve what exactly?" inquired Dumbledore mildly.

"Well, it would make me feel better," said Ron, but even looming over the seated man his attempt to intimidate and dominate Snape failed.

"You weren't supposed to see that report yet," said Dumbledore into a silence that was broken only by Ron's attempts to catch his breath.

"I suppose you wanted time to doctor it. To think up more lies." Ron's hands were clenched into fists of rage.

"No. I didn't feel it was necessary for you know about - " Dumbledore stopped. "I have already made my apologies to Severus. Now I must apologise to you. But there is some information you shouldn't have."

"Why - ?"

"No!" said Snape instinctively, when he saw the headmaster about to cast the Obliviate.

Pale with shock, Ron stared into Dumbledore's watchful blue gaze. "You mean you believe what Snape said?" he demanded accusingly.

"Implicitly. And that's Professor Snape, Mr Weasley."

"Percy wouldn't," muttered Ron, so pale that every freckle stood out in stark relief. "You never liked him," he added, wheeling round to glare at Snape again. "You've always hated our family. Percy wouldn't."

Snape remained silent and continued to study him.

Ron's right hand curled into a fist again. There would be a certain satisfaction in bloodying that supercilious face. Except... He couldn't shake off the memory of what he had read in the various reports. It was one thing to help out on the spur of the moment, before your imagination could get to work, but knowingly to... His fingers relaxed, his hand dropping to his side.

"Are you positive it was Percy?" he asked in a different tone.

"Yes." Snape made no attempt to elaborate.

Ron slumped onto a chair. "I suppose you must be. There would be no point lying about it when it can be checked so easily. The silly, misguided sod. I know how it must look but it won't be the obvious. You're sure it was the Dark Mark that he took and not some other...? You could be mistaken?" Hope blazed from his blue eyes.

"Not about that," said Snape.

"It could be a fake."

"No one could ever mistake the real thing." Snape's gaze moved beyond Ron for a moment. As he straightened his left arm, the fabric of his gown, jacket and shirt parted as cleanly as if cut by an invisible knife. Peeling back the layers of material he extended his inner arm for Ron to see. "The Mark has been fading since I got back from Voldemort yesterday but it's still visible. As a new Death Eater Percy will be in favour. His arm will appear unblemished except when Voldemort summons him and for a few minutes afterwards."

Staring at the livid skull and snake, Ron lacked the experience to conceal his revulsion. Snape's mouth tightened. Smoothing out his clothing, he repaired the fabric with a murmured "Reducere."

Leaning forward where he sat, Ron was staring at his clasped hands where they hung between his parted legs. The crystal dangling from one ear twisted and sparkled, then slowly stilled until Ron finally spoke again.

"I know Percy can be a pompous prick at times but really he's just...insecure. Like I was, I suppose. Only he doesn't seem to have grown out of thinking he has to prove himself all the time. He's always wanted to do better than Bill and Charlie but this isn't the way to go about it. Oh, Percy..."

His voice thickening, he swiped his running nose with the back of his hand, a glare daring Snape to comment when he was forced to give a loud sniff. "This will kill mum and dad," he muttered.

"Don't be absurd," dismissed Snape briskly. "They have far too much good sense. Besides, you can't tell them."

Ron's reaction was predictable and noisy. His yelling woke up Fawkes.

Meeting Dumbledore's eyes, Snape shook his head. "With the quantity of self-pity he's exuding, sympathy's the last thing he needs. Leave him to me, Albus."

After another sharp look at Snape, some of the anxiety in Dumbledore's eyes faded. Nodding, he collected Fawkes and quietly closed the door on his way out.

Snape allowed Ron his head for another thirty seconds before silencing the shouting with a simple charm.

"That's better. When the headmaster admitted you to the Inner Circle earlier today you accepted the fact that difficult choices would need to be made. That was more than mere form and this is simply the first of many. Believe it or not, it's probably one of the easier ones you'll be expected to make. If you don't want to be thought of as a child, stop behaving like one. Yes? Oh." Snape returned the power of speech to Ron as casually as he had removed it.

"I don't understand why they can't be told. It's their right to know!"

"Yes, it is. And if you think Molly will be capable of concealing the devastating effect the news will have on her..."

Ron opened his mouth, then looked down. "What makes you think I can?" he muttered.

"In the last six years you have repeatedly demonstrated your willingness and ability to subordinate your needs - even your life - to help Harry in his fight against Voldemort."

It took a moment for the magnitude of the compliment Snape was paying him to sink in. Ron went very red and stared at his feet, mumbling nonsense.

"Besides, you're our strategist," added Snape prosaically. "You need to know. Bill and Charlie don't and aren't to be told. Clear? The less people who know, the less likely the news is to get out. And the safer Percy will be. One word out of place could kill him. Or make him wish he was dead." It was clear he spoke from experience.

Ron nodded. "Does Harry have to know?" he blurted out a few moments later.

Snape was slow to control his surprise. "You don't want him told?"

"No. I couldn't bear it if he started to go on and on about it. And he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Dumbledore was going to use a memory charm on me, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Why did you stop him? You can't want me to know... Oh, blimey," breathed Ron, as it occurred to him just how much Snape must hate this.

"Quite. Not everything is about your family."

"No." Ron concentrated on picking some dry skin at the side of his thumb nail. "You trust me?"

"I wasn't aware that I'd been given a choice in the matter." Snape's voice was as dry as dust but that very control spoke volumes.

Aware of an unwilling sympathy for the teacher he had barely learnt to tolerate over the years, Ron nodded. "No. Yet you stopped him Obliviating me. Why?"

"As our strategist you need every available piece of information. Though what possible..." Snape stopped, paused and started again. "I have no choice," he said with bleak honesty.

"No," said Ron again. "I suppose you don't."

There was a lengthy silence.

"I don't understand why he did it," muttered Ron finally. Beneath the raw pain was blank incomprehension - and the inevitable guilt. His head rose, a challenge on his face. "Do you?"

It was only later that he realised Snape had been waiting for this response.

"Are you asking me in my capacity as an ex-Death Eater?" It was the final twist of the knife to see the flicker of fear in those usually fearless blue eyes.

"Yes," said Ron, overly conscious that he was wandless in the presence of a powerful wizard and ex-Death Eater who had always loathed him. Even Dumbledore wasn't infallible. Or so Hermione had said in her reports and he trusted her opinion over any of them. While Snape's name kept cropping up in her notes, there weren't any clues what she really thought of him.

"I suspect Percy joined the Death Eaters for the same reason I did."

"Percy's nothing like you!"

"I'm glad you noticed that."

"How you must be loving this," said Ron fiercely.

"Oh quite," said Snape.

It was only then that Ron appreciated the measure of the insult he had delivered. "Sorry," he muttered, obscurely ashamed.

"No, don't spoil it. You were doing quite well."

"And you've made no attempt to retaliate. Why?"

"It's difficult to take the high moral ground while wearing the Dark Mark."

Ron stared at him, for the first time seeing just a tired looking man with lines of stress engraved on his face. "How old were you when you joined them?"

Devoid of emotion, Snape's voice drifted into the silence just when Ron had given up hope of getting a reply.

"I joined two weeks after my eighteenth birthday. Voldemort offered arcane knowledge not available elsewhere. Only later did I realise why. And I was arrogant enough to assume I could take what I wanted, defeat him and return a hero. I thought he was ruled by the intellect but... He wasn't. It took me four months to admit the extent of my mistake. Four long months before I found the courage to go to Albus."

Snape found it impossible to hide how much he was hating every second of this - not least because he had no one but himself to blame for the fact he had to permit self-righteous little pricks sit in judgment on him. His glare went unnoticed because, deep in thought, Ron was staring through him.

"That's the real reason you won't let me tell mum or dad, isn't it?" said Ron slowly. "You want Percy to do the same thing. And he will, I'm sure of it. Only he's nowhere near as powerful as you. What if he gets himself killed before he gets the chance to come to Dumbledore?"

"I'm relying on the fact that Percy has always been more willing than me to admit when he's made a mistake."

"Oh. Right." Ron fidgeted where he sat, staring fixedly at the wall. "If I'm to be of any use I need to understand Voldemort."

"Why else do you think Albus left you to my tender mercies?" said Snape sardonically. "Order some ginger tea for me. I'll be back in a moment, when I'll do my best to answer any questions you may have."

It was that, more than anything else, which brought it home to Ron how much things had changed.

What was worse, he didn't even enjoy the experience of having the whip hand over Snape - although he couldn't have explained why not, even to himself. It was late afternoon before he ran out of questions, by which time he looked almost as exhausted as Snape, not least because the man opposite him had become real to him in a way that he never had before.

"You can't be much older than Bill," Ron said, as he collected up the rolls of newly filled parchment.

"About eight years, I think."

"Blimey, I always thought - "

"Best not go there," said Snape dryly.

"No," agreed Ron, rubbing the back of his neck, before he gave a wry grin. "Being treated like an adult takes a bit of getting used to."

Snape eyed him thoughtfully. "With a little reflection it should be apparent that the staff - even your mother - have been doing so since you entered the Lower Sixth. It's just that you're finally beginning to look beyond the obvious. About time, given that you'll be inflicted on the wizarding world next June."

"I just want to say something." Ron stopped dead.

"Yes?" said Snape, but beneath the impatience he looked wary.

Ron tried, and failed, to imagine how Snape must feel about being interrogated by a pupil. "I just wanted to say that...Well, of course I won't say anything. That goes without... I just thought you might want to hear me say it."

"Yes," said Snape, the set of his shoulders dropping a fraction.

"I think that what you're doing is... It takes a lot of guts. That's all. And that - "

"Let me stop you there, Mr Weasley. Has anything about our conversation today led you to believe I've developed a tolerance for Gryffindor sentimentality?"

"Well, no but - "

"But nothing. Go away."

Getting to his feet, Ron grinned. "Yes, sir."

It wasn't often, he thought, racing down the stairs for the sheer pleasure of being able to loosen some of the kinks, that anyone took Snape by surprise, but he thought that show of respect might just have done it. It was a pity he couldn't in all decency share the moment with anyone.

Then he remembered Percy and lost all desire to smile, seconds before he almost careened into Dumbledore.

"Sorry, sir," he gasped.

"No harm done. The parchment?"

"I left it on your desk."

"Good," said Dumbledore, handing him his wand.

Ron looked anxious. "No one else must - "

"Rest assured, they won't. Is Professor Snape...?"

"He's still upstairs," said Ron.

"Mmn. Well done, Mr Weasley. I'm sure we can rely on your discretion."

By the time Ron thought to mumble something Dumbledore had disappeared from sight up the stairs.. Not looking where he was going, Ron rounded the corner at the bottom of the narrow staircase and narrowly missed colliding with Harry.

"What was all that about?" demanded Harry. "With Dumbledore, I mean. About discretion?"

"Oh. That I'm strategist for the...y'know," Ron muttered. It felt odd lying to Harry.

"Are we that hard up?" inquired Harry, beaming at him. "You'll be brilliant at it. So what was that about Snape?"

"Just... Harry, you won't blow your top, right? Only, he's a - that is, he was - a Death Eater."

"Yeah, I know. I've known for a couple of years. The bastard," Harry added automatically.

"So would you be if you'd been through what he has. Repeated doses of Cruciatus. Raped by Voldemort - "

Harry stared at him. For a moment he couldn't speak, couldn't think, what Ron had just said refusing to make sense. His hands felt cold and his face was burning as the implication sank home. If that could happen to someone as powerful as Snape then -

"Voldemort must be desperate to want to shag that greasy git," he said, pushing away the reality of what he had been told.

"Harry!" exclaimed Ron, appalled, not least that he had just betrayed the very secret he had promised to keep.

Harry jumped, as if woken from a dream. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he protested. "I swear it. I - " It was then that he looked beyond Ron to where Dumbledore, with Snape at his shoulder stood.

"Oh, Harry," said Dumbledore, and the disappointment and pain in his voice cut like a knife.

Snape simply brushed past them all and quickly disappeared from view.

While sunset was still several hours away, the light was poor, the clouds low; it had started to drizzle, a thin, mean wind making Harry shiver as he sulkily started to search the grounds, having failed to locate Snape in the castle. So far he had managed to avoid thinking about what he had actually said - not that he could remember the exact words. Despite Dumbledore's lecture he wasn't sorry. Not in the way he should be. Not in the way Dumbledore wanted.

What did he expect? Snape hated his mum, dad and Sirius, had been a bastard to them for the last six years and he was supposed to grovel because of one tactless -

Wrapping his cloak more firmly around him, Harry decided to call in on Hagrid. Even one of his rock cakes would be better than this.

But Hagrid and Fang weren't home.

Harry headed round the back of the cottage; Hagrid could often be found out by the pens he had built, nursing back to health some highly dangerous or repulsive animal. The trace of wood smoke on the air told him Hagrid must have lit the fire. But instead of Hagrid he saw Snape, sitting on the wooden plank supported by two buckets, which made up a bench for Hagrid's visitors. Sitting forward, with his head bent and his forearms resting on his thighs, Snape held a clove-scented cheroot, which was burning away unsmoked. In anyone else Harry would have called the body language defeated.

Snape looked up when he became aware that he wasn't alone. While he made no attempt to speak, something about his expression made Harry look down.

"I'm - uh - sorry," he said awkwardly.

"Yes? Fine. Don't let me detain you."

Turning on his heel, Harry was about to stalk off when something he couldn't have explained drew him back. Snape was staring at the ground again, rubbing his left arm.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Fuck off, Potter," said Snape tiredly, without looking up.

"What?" Harry couldn't have been more surprised if Professor McGonagall had performed the dance of the seven veils.

"You heard me. It isn't term time yet. I don't have to set you an example. In fact I don't have to put up with you at all." Snape rose to his feet and Harry braced himself but Snape simply walked past him as if he didn't exist.

Absently rubbing his scar, Harry wasn't sure what to do next. He refocused to see Hagrid watching him, Fang leaning against his thigh. While Hagrid said nothing, he said it eloquently.

Harry glared at him. "Is it my fault the greasy git became a Death Eater?"

Hagrid's eyes widened for a moment. "Does the headmaster know?"

"Of course he does. He thinks the sun shines out of Snape's - "

"I've never known Albus Dumbledore ter be wrong abou' anyone," said Hagrid slowly. "An' I'd trust his judgement over any other."

"But Snape was a Death Eater!"

"Yer migh' want ter shout a bit louder. Someone up at the castle might not 'ave heard you," said Hagrid, in the same quiet voice he used to sooth troubled animals.

Harry fought to subdue his rising temper. "I forgot," he said sulkily.

"Yeah? Then mebbe yeh should work on improvin' yer memory. Yeh're seventeen now, Harry. This time next year yeh'll be decidin' wha' ter do with yer life."

"Like I have a choice. If I'm not dead I'll be fighting Voldemort. I'm the Boy Who Lived. I don't get to choose," said Harry, wallowing.

"Nor did Cedric Diggory, Arabella Figg, or Hermione's parents," said a cold, passionless voice from behind them. "The list of those who have had no choice is a long one," continued Snape. "You, however, have the ability to do something about it. So pick up your tiny burden, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it. Hagrid..." His hands parting, he fell silent, looking untypically at a loss.

"Don' you go worryin' 'bout me, Professor," said Hagrid sturdily. "I know wha' needs doin'. Harry shouldn't have told me, that's the truth o' it. But now he has..." He took out a red-spotted handkerchief the size of a pillow case and blew his nose. "Yeh've got ter take the mem'ry from me. I know that. Best yeh do it now, rather than troublin' the headmaster. I wouldn't mean ter give yeh away. Yeh do know that?"

"Yes," said Snape, without the sneer Harry had been expecting. "Yes, I do. Obliviate," he added quietly.

Hagrid blinked. "I dunno what I'm doin' standin' gossipin'. Fang here's expecting his tea, aren't you, boy." The pat he delivered would have knocked a young calf off its feet. Fang gave no sign of noticing beyond turning his head to swipe Hagrid's hand with his tongue. Saliva slid groundwards. "Harry, Professor. You'd best get back to the castle. It's blowin' up for rain."

It wasn't the first time Harry had seen Obliviate used - Dumbledore had used it on his friends in front of him - but this upset him more, because Hagrid had been so...trusting. He just hadn't expected Snape to recognise the fact. Spoiling for a fight, he hurried after Snape, who was already striding up the slope, through the trees.

"Did you have to do that to him?"

Snape stopped abruptly in his tracks, heading for the shelter of an ancient cedar tree. "Of course not. I could have let him tell everyone in the Leaky Cauldron that I'm spying for Dumbledore and ended all my troubles. Go away."

Before Harry could ask why, Snape leant his palms against the tree and began to retch as if he was about to turn himself inside out.

His own gag reflex sorely tested, Harry backed away a few paces but he didn't like to leave Snape alone; equally, he didn't want to get any closer than he had to.

"I'll get Madam Pomfrey," he said, when the spasms finally began to ease.

In a position of abject humiliation, on all fours by this time, still dribbling blood-speckled bile, with his eyes and nose running and his skin waxen, Snape slowly looked up.

Despite his attempts to control the urge, Harry began to fidget. "What?" he demanded belligerently.

"Relax," said Snape in an attenuated voice. "I'm not pregnant."

Harry felt the hot colour run up over his face. "I didn't mean it what I said the way it must have sounded. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Er - that is - "

"Yes, James would never knowingly put one foot down his throat when he could use two," said Snape weakly, before he closed his eyes, shutting Harry out. Shivers rippled through him.

Harry belatedly made himself useful. Taking out his wand, he cleaned up the area, Snape and produced a glass of water and a towel, before thinking to screen them from sight - and the rain, which was falling heavily now.

"About bloody time," said Snape ungratefully, spitting water onto the grass as he swilled out his mouth. "Now go away."

It didn't occur to Harry to argue.

***

 

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Harry sat in the corner of what he had been told were Hermione's rooms during the holidays, watching the various members of the Inner Circle greet one another. It was disconcerting enough to see the new way they treated Hermione - almost as if she was one of them. Sirius - Professor Pinchbeck, he reminded himself - looked weird and sounded even worse. It was strange, seeing him through the Appearance Detracting Charm. It had come as something of a shock to learn that the suite of rooms in Serpens Tower was Snape's and that he had offered them to Sirius and Remus of his own accord. Though maybe that was why Sirius hadn't ranted about him once. It wasn't a bit like the sort of place you'd expect Snape to live in. There again, who would think Snape would have books on Quidditch? Maybe next time he visited Sirius he might find time to have a better look at them. But it was unsettling because it meant he had to rethink Snape yet again and there were too many changes going on as it was.

The room was buzzing with conversations, some of which made Harry uneasily aware that all the teachers he had taken for granted for the last six years had an existence outside the classroom, and personalities which bore little resemblance to those he had believed he knew. Professor McGonagall for one, he thought, shocked to his socks when he overheard the joke she was telling Madam Hooch. He hadn't known women that old talked about stuff like that. What was worse, it was giving him a hard on. He was getting turned on by Professor McGonagall! How sick was that?

"Severus!" exclaimed Bill Weasley as he entered the room at a jog. "I haven't had the chance to see you yet." No one but Dumbledore knew how close Bill came to being blasted across the room when he took Snape in a brief, fierce hug.

"And you thought it was accidental because?" Snape's relaxed voice was at variance with his rigidly-held body.

"Seriously. I must thank you for - "

"Wait until the end of your first week of teaching," Snape interrupted, trying to pretend he wasn't aware of Potter's stare boring into him.

"You forget. I've taught before. I survived twelve months at Beaux batons," Bill reminded him cheerfully. "Charlie asked me to pass on his thanks. It's obviously your adopt-a-Weasley year."

"Yes, I failed to allow for the two extra in the pipeline. Are you intending to wear those trousers when you teach?" Snape retreated to the edge of the circle, sat on the first available chair and tucked his unsteady hands from sight. The green of the leather of the shabby wing-backed chair did nothing for his complexion.

"What's wrong with them?"

"Not a thing," Madam Hooch assured him throatily, before her gaze returned to the supple chestnut leather which clung to the long legs and narrow flanks.

Bill visibly lost his train of thought and unconsciously straightened his shoulders, returning her speculative look with interest.

"Wear those and you'll have every hormonal girl - and a few of the boys - lusting after you," said Professor Sprout bluntly. "If I was fifty years younger I might think about joining the queue. They're very flattering, dear but really, they won't do."

"The little buggers don't need any encouragement. If they can fixate on Snape here, anything's possible," said a high voice.

Bill turned, then frowned and looked puzzled. "Have we met?"

"Professor Quinapalus Pinchbeck, caretaker and stand-in for Professor Lupin during his periods of absence, Bill Weasley, junior Charms and Ancient Runes," said Professor McGonagall crisply.

"And - um - ?" Bill gestured to the gathering, nodding when Ron slipped into the room and made a bee-line for Harry.

"A valued member of this council," said Dumbledore. "It's actually Sirius Black under the influence of an Appearance Detracting Charm."

"Bugger me," said Bill blankly, before murmuring an apology to the women present. "It never occurred to me that... I would never have guessed. Though now you've said it I can see... It's damn confusing, seeing both images."

"Isn't it just," said Madam Hooch, glancing at Snape.

His eyes closed, he did not notice.

"So should I use one?" said Bill. "It could be fun."

"You haven't changed," remarked Professor McGonagall dryly. "The Appearance Detracting Charm is only effective to those who don't know its in place. There are too many people at Hogwarts who know what you look like. They would see straight through any charm you applied. Worse, it would draw attention to the rest of us and for Sirius' sake..."

"It was just a thought," said Bill sadly, before he frowned at Snape. "Well, I'll be blowed. Though at least it explains why you don't smell as greasy as you look."

"Bugger me," said Ron blankly as he stared at the stranger he realised must be the real Severus Snape under the blurry yet hooked-nose image.

"Yes, well, fascinating as Severus undoubtedly is, our time is limited," said Dumbledore. "Down to business. Severus, as this meeting is more about bringing people up-to-date with information you've supplied, I'd like you to stay."

"Of course, headmaster," said Snape, wondering if there was any hope of Potter and Weasley looking at someone else.

"Then, with your permission, I'll summarize your report," continued Dumbledore.

"Thank you," Snape murmured, knowing that Dumbledore intended to omit his rape and the fact Percy Weasley had joined the Death Eaters.

When Dumbledore finished speaking the ensuing discussion was something of a free-for-all but when no one mentioned the obvious Ron nervously cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mr Weasley?" invited Professor Sprout, turning to him.

Aware that he had just become the centre of attention, Ron focussed on his brother's leather-covered kneecap. "Uh, if Voldemort's sending Death Eaters to France to search out Mr Black and suppress the supposed uprising, as well as slapping down Malfoy and Pettigrew when they show too much ambition... It suggests he's nervous that he might have a rival. As if anyone could get the kind of power he now has."

"Not anyone," said Snape impatiently, having returned in time to hear that. "Potter. Black is Potter's godfather. Pettigrew was a friend of Lily and James. Malfoy could fulfill his ambitions through Potter just as easily as Voldemort. It's power he's after. Voldemort is afraid of the influence any one of them might exert over Potter - not to mention Potter himself. Voldemort judges others as he would behave. Your point, Mr Weasley?" It was not the disparaging tone of the classroom but of one equal to another and it so disconcerted Ron that for a moment he lost his train of thought.

"We - uh - We need to keep Voldemort off-balance. One way might be to get him worrying about who he can trust."

"He doesn't trust anyone, I thought I had made that clear," said Snape impatiently.

"Let the boy finish, Severus," said Flitwick kindly. "What are you proposing, Mr Weasley?"

For a split second all Ron could think about was all the times when he'd fantasised about saving the wizarding world - about people of importance hanging on to his every word. It had never occurred to him how fucking scary that would be. What he said could have a very real impact on the safety of his family.

"It occurred to me that next time Professor Snape is summoned he could tell Voldemort that he overheard the headmaster talking about information they'd got from a traitor in Voldemort's midst."

"And have him assume it's Severus? No, it's too risky," said Professor McGonagall.

"Unlikely given that I'd be the one giving him the news," Snape pointed out. "The idea had already occurred to me. I'm more concerned about the possible risk to the new initiates."

"Since when do we worry about Death Eaters?" said Harry, disconcerted when every head turned in his direction. He hadn't intended his comment to be audible.

Ron swallowed his angry retort and stared at his feet.

"Albus?" said Snape.

"It's something to consider," said Dumbledore. "In order to ensure you stay alive you need information to take Voldemort."

"But - " began Ron.

"Anyone who joins the Death Eaters knows what they're getting into," said Bill. There were supportive murmurs from Black and Professor McGonagall.

"Rubbish," said Professor Sprout forthrightly.

"Succinctly put," said Snape, "but correct in essentials. For every Malfoy there are half a dozen muddle-headed fools. Which doesn't, I concede, prevent them from being a danger to us. I could always put a name to the traitor."

"And sign their death warrant?" exclaimed Professor McGonagall.

"It hadn't occurred to me that might be a disadvantage," said Snape, his voice at its silkiest.

"Severus, stop baiting Minerva. I would suggest keeping your report to Voldemort as vague as possible - not least because that way he won't dare trust any one of the one hundred and seventy three with any task of importance," said Professor Sprout briskly.

Snape gave her a look of approval. "We'll make a Slytherin of you yet."

She smiled and leant over to pat his hand. "If it makes you happy to think so, dear."

"You could offer Voldemort something else as well," said Hermione, making Ron jump because he hadn't spotted her over in the chair in the far corner, on the other side of Snape from Professor Sprout.

"Yes?" said Snape. It was the tone any of his students were accustomed to hearing.

"We need to convince him that it's useful for him not only that you stay alive, but at Hogwarts. What if he believes you have a hold over one of the staff? Someone important, I mean, not like Bill."

"Thank you," Bill said blandly.

"Or the headmaster," continued Hermione, "because Voldemort wouldn't believe it. But how well does he know Professor McGonagall?"

"Not at all, I hope," she said with feeling.

"Beyond the fact he knows you're Albus' deputy I doubt if he gives you a thought," said Snape but there was approval in the look he gave Hermione - and a well-concealed relief.

"But he'd be pleased if he thought you had something on the deputy head of Hogwarts? Something which might give you leverage?" pursued Hermione.

"Probably," said Snape. "What did you have in mind?"

Hermione made an irritable noise. "I can't be expected to think of everything. What about sex?"

There was a small silence.

"What indeed?" said Snape dryly.

His head coming up, Ron stared from Snape to Hermione, then shook his head and applied himself to the problem.

"What if you let it be known you'd found Professor McGonagall in a compromising position with - with - Who?" He avoided glancing at his former Head of House.

"A pupil," said Lupin promptly. "If word got out, she would be dismissed immediately."

"Really?" asked Ron, side-tracked.

"If we could concentrate on the matter in hand," said Madam Hooch acidly.

"Then make it a pupil. It will need to be someone close to Harry and ... Oh no," said Ron. He glanced at Professor McGonagall. "Due respect and all that but - "

Bill whipped out his handkerchief in an unconvincing bout of sneezing.

"Perfect," said Snape, looking more cheerful than he had all day.

"Your sense of humour doesn't improve," said Professor McGonagall, less than flattered by Ron's expression of horror.

Snape looked across at Dumbledore. "Albus, you know I obey you in all things," he began.

Somebody snorted.

"I do so enjoy hearing you rewrite history," said Dumbledore placidly, his eyes twinkling.

"In most things," amended Snape testily. "The plan would be perfect. Not only a lever against Minerva, but a blow to the Weasleys - and Potter's best friend."

"Sorry, Ron," said Hermione cheerfully.

"Hermione," he said, frustrated by the inhibiting presence of so many of his professors.

"I suppose no one wants to hear what I think?" said Professor McGonagall acidly but Harry was surprised to see the twinkle in her eyes.

The debate went on for some time, until Dumbledore pointed out that they were due at High Table in forty minutes.

"It's agreed then. Severus has some hold over you - not a sexual relationship with a student, if you please," added Dumbledore, failing to hide his amusement. "Perhaps an over-indulgence of red-currant rum?"

"Credible," said Snape judiciously. "I could be supplying her with the Hangover Potion - in large quantities."

"If only you weren't enjoying this so much," said Professor McGonagall with resignation. "Drink, it is. How do you intend to demonstrate that I'm under your thumb? One would-be witticism and you're a toad, I warn you now. And I'll give you to Longbottom for safe-keeping."

It was with a real sense of shock that it occurred to Harry that Professor McGonagall actually liked Snape.

A choked sound turned every head to where Snape sat, bent almost double.

"Oh no," said Hermione in a strange voice.

"He's recalling you? So soon?" said Dumbledore urgently, going to Snape's side.

Snape slumped with relief when, as abruptly as it had begun, the pain eased. "So it would seem."

"You mustn't go," said Madam Hooch fiercely.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Snape. "Against all the odds he let me live. There's no reason to suppose that has changed. But I may not be back for the beginning of term. Minerva, should anyone ask, I took an extended period of leave. It has the merit of reinforcing the notion that I have some hold over you. Poppy, can you give me something? I can't afford to retch over Voldemort."

"Of course. I'll collect it and meet you at the main gates," she said composedly. "It will last for twenty four hours. I'll ensure you have a further supply, although you really shouldn't be taking - "

"There isn't time for this," Snape interrupted her. "Viveca Sinistra is an excellent woman but my House needs more consistency than she's capable of giving them. Remus, this is a contingency we've discussed?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Speak to Zabini. He'll tell you all you need to know."

"Go," urged Lupin. "I'll keep your Slytherins safe for you."

Already at the door, Snape turned and for a moment his expression was nakedly revealing. "If you could bring yourself to do so for their sakes you would be of more use to them."

The door closed behind him.


	21. Chapter 21

TWENTY ONE

 

Escaping from the corridor crowded with exuberant third and fourth years busy resuming old friendships and feuds alike, Harry gave a sigh of relief when he entered the staff corridor which led to the meeting room of the Inner Circle. The castle seemed to throb with noise as pupils made Hogwarts their own again, the very air thrumming with magical energy. The portraits beamed, delighted to be back in service, and the ghosts had all gone to their respective Houses to keep an eye on things; the first week of the new school year was always wearing for the staff. Peeves was being unusually quiet because he missed having Filch to torment.

"Professor Pinchbeck!" called Harry, when he saw his godfather at the far end of the corridor, heading away from the meeting room.

Black turned. "Mr Potter?"

"Is everything all right? With the castle, I mean? Only I can feel - " Harry gestured vaguely. "Magic," he added, unable to explain in more depth.

"I'm not surprised. The castle virtually rocks with it for the first few weeks of term. The protective wards are only put in place in the corridors used by the children. The staff are expected to behave themselves," Black added dryly.

"The corridors are warded?" said Harry blankly.

"How else do you imagine we can prevent undisciplined first years from causing havoc? It's one thing to set a rule about no magic in the corridors, quite another to enforce it. The wards allow for minor spells, of course, or it would give the game away. No need to glare like that. You and Malfoy would have killed one another in a fortnight without those checks in place."

"He might have tried," said Harry, absorbing the fact that they had been far more protected than he had assumed - or felt comfortable about.

Black eyed him critically. "You're supposed to be in uniform," he said, remembering his new responsibilities. It was less Minerva's lecture than knowing Snape was waiting for him to fail which made him apply himself to learning these new skills.

"You sound just like Snape."

Black grinned. "No need to be insulting. Though that's who I'm modelling P - myself on. And Argus, of course. I couldn't believe some of the things he had on show in his office - though Minerva assures me he never actually used any of them. Is that a black tee shirt under your shirt?"

Harry peered down at himself and rebuttoned his shirt with more care. "That's right. It's one of the ones Mrs Weasley gave me for my birthday. They're the only clothes I've had from her that actually fit," he added with a fond grin. "They're brilliant. They have an embossed picture of a white stag on the front. It's my Patronus. From - "

"Prongs," said Black softly, feeling old as he stared at James and Lily's son, seeing now the promise of the man he would be; James' decency and clarity of purpose, with Lily's fire - and something that was uniquely Harry. Purposefully brisk, he pushed away the memories of his friends. "Though that's no reason not to fasten the top button of your collar and pull up your tie. You're a prefect now - you're supposed to be setting a good example.

"What's wrong?" he added, when Harry's expression changed. "Wait." He bustled Harry into the meeting room. "We can speak freely here. What's the problem?"

A sullen look crossed Harry's face. "Nothing," he said, without much conviction, fidgeting.

"Don't give me that. We're staying here until you tell me what's wrong, so you may as well spit it out now and have done with it. If it's about the N.E.W.T.s - "

"It isn't. It's just that... It's stupid. I know it is," said Harry, before the dam burst. "I know mum and dad were head girl and boy and it isn't as if I expected... Only Dumbledore usually gives me extra points at the end of term after I've defeated Voldemort so I thought that maybe... But I couldn't be head boy, I know that. It's my fault Cedric died and - Omph!"

Air rushed from his lungs as Black took him in a fierce hug. Maintaining a grip on Harry's biceps, he stepped back a little, the better to glare at him. "You listen to me, Harry Potter. The only person responsible for Cedric's death is Voldemort. All you've ever done is try to keep everyone safe. You've coped with situations that would terrify most adults. I won't deny you can be a prat at times - " his grin softened the comment " - but the way you've shouldered your responsibilities makes me so proud of you. As I know James and Lily would be. Oh, Albus..." he added, with obvious relief, as he spotted the older wizard further down the room. "You heard?" His hands fell to his sides.

Harry tensed and gave the headmaster a wary look.

"Indeed I did," said Dumbledore, one hand on Harry's shoulder. "And it was well said. Harry, you have nothing with which to reproach yourself. No one holds you responsible for Cedric's death. How could they? He was murdered by Voldemort. To cling to guilt when there is no need is a form of vanity and you're generally one of the least vain boys I've ever met." While Harry was recovering, he turned to Black. "Minerva was looking for you. She's in the Great Hall."

Black nodded and slipped from the room, giving the back of Harry's head an affectionate bat with the heel of his hand in parting.

"Now," said Dumbledore, studying Harry from over the top of his spectacles. "I think you and I should have a talk."

Harry looked unenthusiastic.

"Or not, if that is what you would prefer," added Dumbledore, in the same mild, vague voice.

Harry gave the bag of sweets Dumbledore held out to him a look of disdain. "No. Thank you," he added, polite because this was Albus Dumbledore and he was allowed to treat you as if you were a first year. "Can I ask you something?"

"What was that? Anything you wish." His gaze sharpening, Dumbledore looked expectant.

"There are rumours that Professor Snape stopped me from being appointed head boy," blurted out Harry, much to his horror because that was absolutely the last topic he had intended to mention to Dumbledore.

"There are rumours about all kinds of things, malicious things in the main." Dumbledore sucked on a bullseye of heroic proportions. "It is true that Professor Snape thought - "

"I knew it," said Harry, his mouth thinned and his eyes fierce. "May I go now?"

"Of course. If you wish. Harry, don't you think it's time you outgrew this somewhat childish vendetta against Professor Snape?"

The injustice of the mild-voiced remark deprived Harry of breath and by the time he had thought of a suitable reply, Dumbledore was gone. Battling against anger, he stood turning his wand over and over in his hand until he realised the time and hurried off to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.

 

It had been dark for some time, making the storm which raged over Hogwarts seem even more spectacular. Harry loved storms, not least because they were a reminder - and a reassurance - that there were still things stronger than Voldemort around. On the fringe of a laughing group, he accompanied the rest of the Gryffindor Upper Sixth into the Great Hall. As the door opened the wall of sound which assaulted them made him wince, although within a few seconds he had stopped noticing it. Perched astride a bench, fidgeting away some of his excess energy, he tried to ignore his ever-present headache as he threw himself into the argument about Quidditch strategy that was in progress. He was vaguely aware that Hermione was talking to Susan Bones, while Ron was busily checking out the talent.

 

By the time she made her way back to the Gryffindor table Hermione felt worn down by the necessity of pretending nothing was wrong. Sinking into the space left for her between Harry and Ron, she let the familiar conversations wash over her, smiling and nodding when required. When attention slid away from her she took out a book on Ancient Runes. If she remembered to turn pages at regular intervals no one would realise she was just staring into space, her mind caught on a non-stop wheel of terror for Severus, and frustration that she could think of no way to defeat Voldemort.

"Having her nose in a book is just habit. Hermione could sit her N.E.W.T.s tomorrow and pass. Couldn't you?"

Responding to a nudge, Hermione refocused on Ron, who gave her a small nod of encouragement; almost as if he saw the strain behind the smile. His habit of noticing what lay behind the obvious took some getting used to; she was accustomed to the old Ron, who had possessed the sensitivity of a mountain troll when it came to noticing subtleties of behaviour. Then he had realised the dividends which came from pleasing his girlfriends and Mr Sensitivity had been born - with only the occasional back-sliding.

"I did spend a lot of the holidays in the library," she admitted, belatedly picking up her cue.

"Oh, Hermione," sighed Lavender with exasperation. "You really must get a life. Though I suppose with Professor McGonagall around you and Viktor couldn't - ?"

"He broke up with me," said Hermione. It seemed a lifetime ago.

About to mutter some conventional platitude, Lavender looked up just as Bill Weasley walked over to the High Table. It was lust at first sight. Getting an unsatisfactory response from Hermione, and a look of disbelief from Ron, she withdrew to dissect the sex god in their midst with the Patil twins and Hannah Abbot of Hufflepuff.

"Last I saw of Bill there were two little second years trailing after him," said Ron, all brotherly sympathy thanks to his own status as a bona fide sex-god. "The Slytherins don't look very happy about being watched over by Professor Lupin, do they? Though given the way Snape has gone on about werewolves in the past, I suppose it's not surprising."

Hermione was watching the Slytherins, many of whom kept glancing up at the High Table, as if waiting for Snape to appear. It suddenly struck her how dependant they were on their head of house. Much as she enjoyed her Transfiguration classes, she rarely gave Professor McGonagall a thought in her role of head of Gryffindor.

Now they were no longer the centre of attention, Ron turned the right way up the book Hermione had been gripping. "Try not to worry. Snape's survived this long." He flinched at the ferocity in the glare he received. "Stupid thing to say," he accepted. "You like him, don't you?" A year ago, even three months ago, it would have taken some effort to keep his incredulity from showing but now it was just a statement of fact.

"I got to know him better during the summer," she said, evading the dangerous question. "Shouldn't you be in the thick of that Quidditch discussion?"

"There are more things to life than Quidditch," said Ron. "I'm just biding my time."

Half-turning, Hermione followed his gaze over to the Ravenclaw table, where Cathy and Sebastian were in the middle of a quiet but obviously vitriolic argument.

"She's very bright," warned Hermione.

"Thanks," Ron said dryly.

"Well, I know I drive you nuts sometimes."

"Ah, but you're Hermione and not - "

On this occasion her grin was unforced. "I get the picture. Have you noticed anything different about Harry?" she added in an undertone.

Ron gave her a wary look. "Like what?"

"Ah, so you have. Maybe it's just...nerves. I used to think he didn't have any."

"That's just silly," dismissed Ron, with his new-found assurance. "He's always been better at hiding them than us, that's all. He's a bit wound up, I grant you." He pushed to the back of his mind the casual cruelty of Harry's comment about Snape, allied with the untypical tendency to snap at the slightest provocation. "A few games of Quidditch should loosen him up. You know he's captain?"

"Oh, I think it got mentioned about fifty times last term," said Hermione, who had forgotten.

Ron's head came up. "Don't whip round but you can relax, Snape's just come in." He was uncomfortably aware that he needed to see Snape to apologise for breaking the confidence he had sworn to keep.

Hermione turned so she could glance up at the High Table; she allowed herself to the count of ten to study him before she looked away. While he looked drawn and tired, he didn't look as if he'd been -

He was home, safe, that was all that mattered.

Concentrating on controlling her breathing, she smiled at nothing in particular. It was odd to see him sitting beside Professor McGonagall, rather than the seat in the shadows which he usually occupied. He and McGonagall looked as if they were fighting about something. Abruptly remembering the strategy suggested at yesterday's meeting, Hermione relaxed and enjoyed their expertise - she wouldn't have expected Professor McGonagall to be quite so good at this.

"Did Professor McGonagall seem all right to you?" she said idly to Lavender, the worst gossip in their year.

Lavender leant across the table. "What d'you mean?"

Mindful of their new responsibilities, Ron produced a defensive scowl. "There's nothing wrong with her liking the odd nip of Old Ogden's."

"It's red-currant rum - and she's been taking more than a nip over the holidays. Though I suppose it doesn't matter so much then," said Hermione, in the tone of one fumbling for excuses.

Professor McGonagall rose to her feet and tapped the side of a glass with her wand. A high, ringing sound circled outwards, cutting through the hubbub until all the conversations had petered out.

"It is almost time for the Sorting Ceremony for this year's intake of first years," she said, in her prim, tight voice. "Hogwarts is an ancient institution. Thanks to the founders, we have four houses to which we are rightly proud to belong. Each has a noble history, each has much to offer. While House rivalries are encouraged, there is a point beyond which we will not permit you to go. And hissing a first year because they have been fortunate enough to be selected for Slytherin house is wholly unacceptable behaviour. I trust I make myself clear," she added, with a pointed look at the Gryffindor table.

"Look at Snape," muttered Seamus, who had mastered the art of talking without moving his lips by the end of his first term. "He's loving this. How did he persuade McGonagall to say that? She looks like she's going to choke."

"Unlike them," said Dean, his brooding gaze on the Slytherin table.

A ripple of reaction had run through the members of the various houses. Hermione just noticed the way the Slytherins sat a little straighter. But it was the surprise on the faces of some of the second and third years which made her feel ashamed.

After threatening a reckoning with each head of house, not to mention the loss of two hundred House points for anyone rash enough to ignore this warning, McGonagall left to collect the first years.

Harry frowned, having tuned out the discussion at the meeting of the Inner Council the previous evening. "I never thought of us as bullies before," he said, scowling automatically at Draco, who was looking appallingly pleased with himself while he sat striking poses midway down the Slytherin table.

"Me neither," said Seamus slowly. "I suppose it did get a bit out of hand last year."

"Can't expect much else with arseholes like Malfoy and his pathetic little gang," dismissed Dean. "Though Pansy isn't bad, I suppose."

"You're only saying that because you fancy her," said Harry disagreeably, as he did his best not to notice Millicent Bulstrode. Tall and sturdy, with wide hips and shoulders, an almost square body, small breasts and an expression of angry defiance, she had none of the more obvious charms. It was just that she could be quite interesting if you got her away from Malfoy and Goyle. She knew her Quidditch and as a Slytherin Beater had given him some nasty moments. He had overheard her talking about the design of the new Nimbus earlier but before he could go over to her Malfoy had stuck his oar in and -

Harry propped his head on his hands. She deserved better than Draco. There was something disquieting about the way his eyes travelled over women, although Hermione swore it didn't bother her.

He wondered vaguely if he could bribe Ron into teaching him some chat up lines that wouldn't leave him sounding like an idiot, then shivered involuntarily as the wind howled loud enough to be heard above the clamour of excited voices.

"I wonder how many of the first years threw up coming across the lake?" said Seamus, looking uncharacteristically worried.

"It's character building," dismissed Lavender without sympathy as she turned from her confidential chat with Parvati, Padma and Hannah having headed back to their respective tables.

"I'll have you know that one of them is our Nuala. And the last thing she needs is any more character. She's as stubborn as they come. There's no arguing with her once she puts her mind to something. It drives mum distracted because she's that way inclined herself. I take after dad, despite him being a Muggle," added Seamus, who was cheerfully proud of both parents.

Then Dumbledore called for silence and the great doors opened on the first years.

 

"....my own sister a Slytherin," Seamus was saying angrily, to a diminutive girl with undistinguished features and the same sandy coloured hair. "What were you thinking?"

"That it's my business, not yours," she said with spirit. "My friends are Slytherins and I wanted to be with them. Besides, Gryffindors are boring." She gave the last word two distinct syllables and a wealth of contempt.

"Friends?"

"The ones I made on the train of course."

"But they couldn't know which house they would be in."

Nuala gave him a scornful look from her boot button eyes. "Don't be silly. I did, so why wouldn't they? I chose Slytherin because it's the coolest house," she added with all the smugness of one who knew herself to be one of the favoured few.

"Cool? Slytherins, my girl, are - "

"Yes, Mr Finnegan?" said Snape, from behind him. "Slytherins are what, exactly?"

Seamus turned with resignation, familiar enough with Snape after six years to recognise the malicious amusement gleaming in the dark eyes. Though it obviously wasn't apparent to Nuala who, he was glad to see, was looking properly apprehensive. "Nothing, sir. I'll see you, Nuala."

"As will I, later. It was my impression that you were told to go to your common room," added Snape, studying her without enthusiasm.

Nuala's courage visibly drained out of her boots as she looked up Snape's intimidating length.

"Do I have your complete attention?" added Snape.

Roused by the impatient bite in his voice, she squeaked an acknowledgement and trotted off - in totally the wrong direction.

"Miss Finnegan! Your common room is that way. Walk, don't run."

Nuala gave a jerky nod and set off down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Well that's a first," said Seamus, looking unwillingly impressed. "Mum's been trying to get our Nuala to do as she's told for years. Ah... She's my sister, you know."

"I had an inkling," said Snape dryly. His sarcasm bypassed a preoccupied Seamus.

"Only I was wondering... She's not been away from home before and..." Seamus' voice petered out under the influence of Snape's unblinking gaze. "Well, of course, I know she'll be safe enough..."

Snape moved, the voluminous folds of his academic robe rearranging themselves into even more elegant lines. "Kindly leave my Slytherins to me."

"I'll not stand by and allow her spirit to be crushed by bullying," Seamus warned in an abrupt, heated rush.

Snape eyed him in the thoughtful manner of one deciding where to make the first incision. "I can't say I'm flattered by the implication." There was nothing that was reassuring in his quiet voice.

After a flicker of surprise and some mental back-tracking, Seamus looked suitably horrified. "I wasn't meaning you. You're a rite of passage we all have to go through. No, I was talking about the Slytherins."

"And on their behalf I repeat, I'm not flattered by the implication. Doubtless you have grounds for assuming members of my house would behave in such a manner?"

Seamus began to sweat. This was going even worse than he had expected. "No, sir. That is... We don't know much about the goings on in Slytherin house."

"Don't deceive yourself. You know nothing about them." Snape's voice stung like a whip. "Instead, entrenched in your prejudices - Oh, go away. I've heard all the nonsense I'm prepared to tolerate for one night."

As Seamus hurried away Snape took a deep, steadying breath. Bone-tired, he had yet to believe he had survived where so many had not. It had been a blood-bath and he was finding it difficult to concentrate on familiar duties while wondering if he would be alive by morning.

"Sir, the Juniors are ready for you," said Blaise Zabini quietly. Tall, elegant and self-contained, he had side-stepped the various cliques and feuds until the death of his father the previous year, when he had taken a public and uncompromising stance against Voldemort and those who supported him. It had caused some interesting undercurrents amongst the Slytherin seniors.

"What do you make of this year's intake?" asked Snape.

Blaise grinned. "It promises to be an interesting year."

"Oh, good," said Snape ironically. "Just when I was afraid things might be getting dull." Seeing Ron Weasley loitering further down the corridor, he sent Zabini on ahead of him.

"Lost, Mr Weasley?"

"No. I wanted - That is, I felt I should - " His new-found confidence melting faster than a snowman in the tropics, Ron ground to a halt, before doggedly starting up again. "I made a promise, only to break it a few minutes - "

"In my experience promises from Gryffindors are usually worthless," interrupted Snape, without seeming interest. "Mr Malfoy, did you want to speak with me?"

Ignoring Malfoy's sneer, Ron trailed back to the Gryffindor common room.

 

Happily cross-examining the Bloody Baron, Buttercup Wean wasn't best pleased to be interrupted by a thickset prefect who looked as if he might be second cousin to a mountain troll.

"Save your cheek for the Gryffindors," he advised her, but he looked unwillingly amused before he raised his voice and addressed the entire Junior Common Room. "Professor Snape is on his way. When he comes into the room, stop talking immediately and get to your feet."

"Why? We didn't have to in that place we got Sorted," said Grania Frayne. Her hair the colour of a burnished conker, she was as pretty as Buttercup was plain. Jostled by the Coppel twins, who were trying to hex her plaits, she glared at Gail while elbowing Fern away.

Crabbe pretended not to notice the exchange. "That room is called the Great Hall. Whatever you might say about Professor Snape in the privacy of Slytherin House, outside it you refer to him with respect at all times. Forget that and McGonagall and Dumbledore will be the least of your worries."

"You mean Professor Snape will - ?" began Vinod Patel, his beautiful eyes looking huge with apprehension.

Crabbe shook his head. "No, I mean that we - the senior Slytherins - will. Remember, we don't discuss private house matters outside the house. How Slytherin conducts its affairs is no concern of anyone else. Understand?"

There was a chorus of nervous agreement.

"Relax, young 'uns," said Crabbe kindly. "Slytherin looks after its own at all times. If anyone is stupid enough to try to bully or threaten any of you, come straight to one of the Slytherin prefects. Clear? It goes without saying there'll be none of that within the house - Professor Snape sees to that."

He had barely stopped talking when the door to the Junior Common Room was flung open. All sound was cut off; those sitting rose to their feet and those already standing straightened their spines.

The first years watched apprehensively as an immensely tall man with a hooked nose and a forbidding expression swept into the room, the swirling richness of his black robes swallowing up the shadows. He nodded to Crabbe and Zabini and made his way to stand in front of the imposing fireplace. The force of his personality was such that he gave the impression of inhabiting twice the space he actually occupied.

Pinned by his chilly, considering regard, Nuala swallowed hard and edged closer to Grania but his gaze had already moved on. The silence had reached intimidating proportions before he spoke, in a quiet voice that carried effortlessly to every corner of the oddly-shaped room.

"First years to the front, where I can see you. The rest of you, welcome back to Hogwarts. I trust you're ready to do your best for Slytherin house - and yourselves."

Pale with apprehension, the nine girls and three boys reluctantly shuffled forward, huddling together like fawns facing the dangers of the forest for the first time.

"My name is Severus Snape. I am your head of house and Potions Master of Hogwarts. Miss Trevallyn, do you require the bathroom?"

"N-no, sir," she stuttered, appalled that this scary man already knew who she was.

"Then kindly stop fidgeting. I shall, of course, be having a private meeting with each of you but until that time you should be aware of a few things..."

His smile well-hidden as he listened to the familiar speech in which reassurance and threat were finely balanced, Blaise Zabini unobtrusively left the room as the house elves arrived with steaming mugs of cocoa and a huge basket of Chocolate Frogs. It was time to prepare the Senior Common Room for the arrival of their head of house.

 

The owl post for the first full day of term was chaotic as parcels of forgotten items of clothing narrowly missed collision with cards and messages from loving families, or from parents who understood that public displays were expected in a society which valued its children above almost everything else.

Oblivious to the looks of concern being directed at her from various sources, Hermione stared fixedly at her congealing fried egg, gritted her teeth and ignored the burning prickle behind her eyes. She was not going to look up for the messages which couldn't possibly be there; her parents had always sent a 'care' package for the first day of term, full of silly presents - and a letter. Stupid to wish she had kept them. Beside her, Ron was elbow deep in wrapping paper - with Ravenclaw Tower screened, it had been agreed that the Weasleys' move would not be made public yet. Even Harry had received a package from Sirius, with a book on Quidditch and a note which Harry had read twice before tucking it safely away.

"Ow!" exclaimed Harry, aggrieved as an eagle owl clipped him with a heavy package, which then dropped into his lap. "It's for you," he said, passing it to Hermione. "Big surprise, someone's sending you a book. You're popular today."

It was then that Hermione looked down and noticed the cards and notes addressed to her: the good wishes and support came from Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch, Professors Sprout and Flitwick and Professor McGonagall. There was a letter from Mrs Weasley that was so loving that it made Hermione blow her nose. Only when she was sure everyone else was engrossed in their post did she open the parcel. Flattening the brown paper with the greatest of care, she stared silently at the beautifully bound copy of Radiccio Levant's 'Treatise on Medieval Magic', which was essential reading for anyone taking S Level Charms, even if it was not actually on the syllabus. She didn't need to open it to know it was a first edition, or to whom it had belonged. She had last seen it in Severus' vault at Gringotts - and his pleasure in finding a book he had believed lost.

She touched the embossed leather cover with a gentle finger. There would be no inscription, cheesy or otherwise, and no snake emblem cunningly hidden by a charm, or even some personalised bookmark; instead, tucked inside the cover, there was a simple piece of the finest cream parchment. The writing was Madam Pomfrey's. A friend asked my permission to send you this gift.

She already knew that he cared for her - that he wanted her - and she had heard a slurred avowal of more. But here was confirmation that his feelings ran deep enough for him to put her need of comfort and reassurance before his pride. In formally going to Madam Pomfrey he had made public something he could easily have kept hidden. While she was wary of reading too much into that, she hugged the knowledge to herself.

Caressing the dull leather binding with the side of her thumb, Hermione finally allowed herself the luxury of looking up at the High Table. But he sat, large tea cup in hand, deep in conversation with a grave-looking Professor Sinistra. Carefully rewrapping the book, she applied a Reducing Charm before tucking the book safely in a pocket and ordering a fresh breakfast from a house elf. She was starving.

"All right?" said Ron, who for reasons best known to himself seemed to have appointed himself as her watchdog.

"Fine," she beamed. "Your mum is brilliant." Idly scanning the hall, she noticed that every pupil who had lost family to Voldemort had received a pile of mail similar to her own, although she felt safe in assuming that no one else had a book from Severus' library.

"Where d'you think I get it from?"

"What?" she said, having lost track of their conversation.

Ron gave a hard-done-by sigh. "Never mind."

 

The Upper Sixth were still absorbing their new timetables as they prepared to head off to the various classes they had selected in one of the optional subjects. Because of the increase in work only four of the core subjects, and one extra could be taken at the N.E.W.T. level.

"Though I call it cruelty to dumb animals not letting us have a few free periods," said Dean, still looking shell-shocked. "D'you know how many hours a week we'll be working?"

"And on top of our prefect's duties," wailed Parvati. "Then, if we do get invited to sit an S Level... I knew I should have done more work in the holidays."

"Six hours of Potions a week," said Harry bitterly.

"Better that than Divination," said Seamus philosophically.

"I can't believe Dumbledore still makes me sit through two hours of that," groused Harry. "It's not like I'm even taking it for my N.E.W.T.s"

"It's better than Arithmancy, Ancient Runes or the History of Magic. You have to work in those classes," said Dean. "Has anyone found out what Ethics of Magic is about? Or why it's compulsory?"

"No doubt we'll find out this afternoon," said Neville. "It could be interesting."

"Have you noticed how being in love has turned you into such an optimist?" said Dean, grinning. "Speaking of which, how is Polly?"

"Besotted with me, so go and letch over someone else's girlfriend," said Neville amiably. Since playing a major role in helping Harry to foil Voldemort's attack two years ago his confidence had improved to a marked degree, and with it his magical abilities - although he continued to melt cauldrons in Potions at least once a year. He only had to enter the Potions classroom to revert to an ineffectual first year, his magical abilities draining away.

"At least Potions won't be so bad. Snape will find it difficult to look down his nose at us now so many of you are taller than he is," said Lavender.

"I wouldn't put money on it," said Dean realistically.

Having slept badly, Harry's grumpy mood hadn't been improved by discovering that the acne he'd developed during the holidays had returned, along with his headache. "There's no need to sound so...tolerant."

Dean gave him a look of faint surprise. "You need to lighten up, mate. There's no point stressing over Snape after all these years. He might be a dry old stick but he can be quite entertaining if you're not the one under the lash. Another thing in his favour, his lessons aren't as boring as most. The O.W.L.s were a piece of piss in comparison to producing an essay that would keep him happy. I quite like Potions these days."

"Touched, Mr Thomas. Should I ever require a reference, I'll know where to come."

While Harry jumped, his scowl intensifying, Dean just turned to give Snape a relaxed grin from his five inch advantage of height. "Anytime, sir."

Feeling as if she had a walk-on role in a very bad play, Hermione said nothing at all, careful to do no more than glance in Snape's direction. The blurring effect of the Appearance Detracting Charm was disconcerting but she couldn't help noticing that beneath it he looked as if he had forgotten what a good night's sleep was like.

"Do you want to get past?" asked Seamus easily.

"Not at all," said Snape. "There's nothing I enjoy more than..."

Many of them smiling, Gryffindors parted to let him through the portion of corridor crowded with suits of armour and a chest so massive that no one had yet found a way to lift the lid, even with the aid of charms.

***

 

The first week of the new term was uneventful, if you ignored the wear and tear on the nerves of the staff and the gossip which arose because of Snape's absence from so many of his senior Potions classes. Dumbledore emerged from meetings with the Ministry of Magic to call a review meeting of the staff involved in the Inner Circle on Friday evening.

Professor McGonagall hobbled into the room, ignored the greetings from some of her colleagues and collapsed on the nearest sofa, barely missing Snape's outstretched legs, where he sat irritably marking parchments. As he moved to accommodate her she quickly filled the space before beginning to swear, softly and fluently and without ever repeating herself.

"Another devoted member of staff celebrates the end of the first week of term," he murmured, glancing up at her. "What you need is a drink."

"Don't start with me, Severus," she warned, recovering enough to bend to massage her aching ankles.

"Here." Snape gestured impatiently, took one of her long feet in his hand, slipped off her impractical shoe and began to massage the ball of her foot until she was in a state of boneless contentment.

"I may let you live," she conceded after a few moments, her eyes closing with bliss.

"You could use a Soothing Charm."

"What I could use," said Professor McGonagall with asperity, "is a large gillywater or three and a week in bed. Preferably with some over-sexed young - "

"Minerva!" protested Snape, looking queasy.

She grinned and settled her other foot in his hand. "Too easy," she said smugly. "Have you heard that you and I are going to settle our differences with a Wizard's Duel on top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight?"

"Would you like me to limp tomorrow morning?"

"I'm delighted you have the sense to know I would win."

"The day you can defeat me in a Duel is the day I specialise in Transfiguration."

Professor McGonagall sat up in a flurry of black robes. Before she could declare war, a house elf appeared with tea and cakes.

"I would have preferred alcohol," she said ungratefully, as she munched a honey cake.

"Good evening, my dears," said Dumbledore, stepping through the fire. "I thought this week went rather well."

"That's because you've been conspicuous by your absence," said Flitwick irritably.

"I wish I had been absent," said Lupin with feeling.

Everyone else just scowled at Dumbledore with varying degrees of dislike, making him reconsider the platitude he had intended to offer. "Now seems the appropriate moment to tell you how proud - and grateful - I am to you all. For the hours you work, the care you take of the children, and the risks you accept. That said, I should like to remind Professor Pinchbeck that we're not in the habit of calling first years 'little buggers' to their faces, whatever the provocation."

"I don't know how Argus stopped himself from killing the little bastards," growled Black, who had spent a trying week, thanks mainly to some Gryffindor second years. Not that he intended to admit that while Snape was around.

"Will-power," said Dumbledore dryly. "If it's any consolation, to judge from a comment overheard from the third year Gryffindor who had just spent the previous evening in detention with you, it seems you're gaining an even worse reputation than Severus."

"I shall have to see what I can do to redeem myself," said Snape.

"Where's Bill? I haven't seen much of him since the first day of term," added Dumbledore. He seated himself in a wing-backed chair and fished for a handkerchief. It was all very well being credited with discovering the twelve uses of dragon blood, but he often thought it would have been more useful if he could have found a cure for the common cold.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch exchanged the sort of grin that reminded all the men that there was good reason why the female was known as the deadlier species.

"Looking harassed the last time I saw him," said Professor McGonagall. "The hormone levels rocket every time he appears. He stopped wearing those leather trousers after the first day. The dragon-hide boots, ear-ring and cologne disappeared the day after. Now he's wearing even more clothing than you," she added to Snape.

"You'd think he would have listened to our advice," said Madam Hooch with a malicious grin. "Ah, hail the conquering hero..."

Bill stumbled out of the fire, looking harassed.

"No need to ask who you're gossiping about," he said, giving the inclined-to-slip shoulders of his academic robe an irritable hitch. "I give you all fair warning, I know some interesting hexes and I'm in just the mood to use them on anyone misguided enough to say they told me so. Clear?" He shared his glare impartially around the assembled staff before stalking over to an empty chair, very much on his dignity.

"Dear me, I hadn't realised things were quite this bad. I thought this year's first years were a very promising bunch," said Dumbledore.

"Promising to do what?" inquired Professor McGonagall tartly.

"Never mind this nonsense," squeaked Flitwick, looking untypically cross. "I, for one, have far too much work awaiting me to appreciate wasting my time. My two homesick Ravenclaws appear to be settling down nicely. Angela Vector is keeping an eye on Clemency Weekes. Ceres?"

Her mouth full of honey cake, Professor Sprout gestured for Madam Hooch to reply for her.

"No problems in Hufflepuff, apart from the one bed-wetter. And he seems to be making friends after that bumpy start. The house elves report dry sheets except for the first two nights. And thanks to the charms we used none of his classmates realised his problem. I hope we're through the worst of it but we're keeping an eye on him."

"No problems in Gryffindor," said Professor McGonagall with authority. "Which is more than can be said for Slytherin. A bigger bunch of undisciplined hooligans - "

"Nonsense," said Snape instantly, tossing another parchment onto the marked pile. "They're a bright, adventurous bunch with more personality than the rest of the first years put together."

"Even you can't believe that bollocks," said Madam Hooch forthrightly.

"Before you all begin to insult my house - "

"Nine girls..." said Madam Hooch, with a touch of malice. "Just think of all the inter-house mingling further down the line."

"Because that's never happened before," said Snape dryly. "Though I have to admit the three boys are looking..."

"...hen-pecked," said Black. "I can't say I blame them. There are few things scarier than a bossy first year girl. And you've got at least five of them."

The faintest of smiles crossed Snape's face. "Yes," he admitted.

"I'm worried about Alaric Cleeve," interrupted Madam Hooch. "His condition this year seems even worse than last. I know he's your concern Severus but - "

"I can't place him," frowned Bill.

"You won't have met him yet. I sent him off to the hospital wing with the excuse of suspected chicken pox," said Snape grimly. "Second year Slytherin, white blond hair, withdrawn, scared of his shadow, performs poorly in stressful situations. His only relative is his father who, I suspect, has been abusing him since birth. Sirius, Remus and Freyja may remember Quintus. He was in the fifth year when we were in the first."

"Him." There was pure loathing in Madam Hooch's voice.

"Oh, I remember him," agreed Black. "James, Remus and I never got caught because we never went anywhere alone but any loners would have had a rough time of it. I wouldn't trust Quintus with the care of a Blast-Ended Skrewt, let alone a child."

"I never liked him when he was in my House, but I hadn't appreciated he was a bully," said Flitwick, looking anxious.

Madam Hooch patted him on the hand. "That was our fault for not telling a member of staff. Quintus was a sadist."

"He used to lure first years up to the old owlery and see how long they could last without fainting under his experiments. That was before your day, Albus," said Lupin. "Though someone must have turned on him because it had stopped by the end of our first year. Like all bullies he was a coward. I'd guess that someone scared him with a hex beyond their years."

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Snape but, his robe wrapped around him, all his ostensible attention was given to the parchment he was marking.

"Pity it wasn't enough to keep Alaric safe," said Black. "What can be done for the boy?"

"Severus, it isn't like you to take a threat to one of your Slytherins so calmly," said Madam Hooch.

"Calm yourselves," he said, without looking up. "Quintus died last night. After the initial bloodbath on Monday the Dark Lord has continued to summon me to interrogate Death Eaters under Veritaserum."

"You knew about this?" Bill asked Dumbledore, less in outraged question than the weary acceptance of the realities of the battle with Voldemort. He had spent all his free time during the last week familiarising himself with the work of the Inner Circle; the knowledge had marked him, muting his carefree manner. Aware that Ron was going through the same process made him appreciate how much his little brother had grown up.

"Of course." Dumbledore studied Snape. "I suspect Severus would say that mine is a typically Gryffindor solution, leaving a Slytherin to bear the burden."

"I'm used to it," said Snape, slashes of red appearing on the parchment he was reading. Then his brain registered what he had said and he looked up at Dumbledore.

"But what's the point of these interrogations?" asked Bill, oblivious to undercurrents.

"To ascertain which Death Eaters are truly loyal to him." Snape's voice was devoid of expression.

Lupin grimaced his comprehension. "I presume you're ensuring that they're not."

"Not every time," said Snape. "That would test even the Dark Lord's gullibility. Veritaserum is flawed because it relies too heavily on the questioner. It's easy enough for fear, pride or greed to sound like treachery to one such as Voldemort. Ironically, Quintus was as loyal as any megalomaniac could wish, although I slanted the questions so that his answers would suggest otherwise."

"So you're judge and jury now," said Black.

Snape visibly braced himself. "That's right."

Professor Sprout made a sound of impatience. "Sirius, if you can offer an alternative course of action, I'm sure Severus would be delighted to take it. You're the one who told us this was war. So far, thanks to Severus, the rest of us have been able to keep our hands clean. Make no mistake, that will change. Prepare yourself for that now, or leave before you endanger everyone. I would have expected Azkaban to teach you more about the realities of life."

"Or too much," interrupted Lupin, on seeing Black flinch. "There was no malice behind what he said."

Snape looked up. "If you're going to talk for him, at least aim for the credible. As for myself... 'Hic murus aeneus esto, nil conspire sibi, nulla pallescere culpa.'" As if regretting what might be taken for a sign of weakness, he applied himself to his marking once more.

Black cleared his throat and staring at his knotted fingers said: "Unlikely as it may seem, Remus was right. I meant only... I don't envy you this. And for what it's worth, I support your actions."

"There now," beamed Professor Sprout. "Well said, Sirius. What will become of Alaric?" she continued, to forestall whatever cutting comment Snape might have intended to make. "I presume the Ministry of Magic will make him a Ward of Hogwarts, once Quintus' death is confirmed."

"They will," confirmed Dumbledore. "That excellent couple the Semples are eager to adopt. Zenith has been doing some fine work in Arithmancy. You may remember Diccon. He was a year ahead of you," he added to Snape.

"Dull but worthy. Good at Herbology. Claimed he was a poet," added Snape, looking pained.

"He is," said Professor Sprout indignantly. "And sweetly pretty his verses are too. I understand his book sales rival Gilderoy's. Zenith was a dear child - so kind."

"Not to mention boring," interjected Madam Hooch, sotto voce to Snape. "But they're just what Alaric needs. You did the right thing."

Snape gave her a look of hauteur. "I know." He kept to himself the knowledge that Alaric hadn't been his only thought. Slytherins understood that revenge was a dish best eaten cold.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, wearing an expression that none of her current pupils had ever seen, "you did." Yet again Snape reminded himself that above all else the cat was a merciless and highly efficient hunter.

"I concur," said Flitwick. "How long were you under Cruciatus?"

Dumbledore looked up. "You didn't mention that when you gave me your report."

"What would be the point?" said Snape, straightening his spine. "I grew careless over the summer. The Dark Lord is not accustomed to hearing himself spoken of as 'Voldemort'. I paid the price for my familiarity. Poppy, go away. There's nothing you can do and I'm in no mood to be prodded and - "

"It's food," she said shortly. "And these sandwiches will do you more good inside than out. You may have a macaroon once you've cleared the plate."

Snape's glare, so effective on first years, bounced off the woman who had known him since he was eleven.

"And you can wipe that smirk off your face, Bill Weasley. I remember you very clearly," she added tartly. "You were a little hellion."

"There was no real vice in him," said Professor McGonagall, automatically springing to the defence of one of her own.

"Unlike the Coppel twins," said Flitwick.

"I don't think it's so much that they're evil as that they're Slytherins," mused Professor Sprout. "I blame Severus."

Unwilling amusement had replaced the tension on his face. "No change there then," he said dryly as he began to relax under the wonderful normality of exchanging insults.

"I thought no one could be worse than the Weasley twins until I meet the Coppels, " said Professor McGonagall, of the view that Snape needed some diversion. "As usual, I transfigured for the first years. The fat one had the temerity to try and bell me!" Her meagre bosom inflated with outrage.

His mood improving by the second, Snape's mouth assumed an odd shape as he struggled to keep his face straight. "That's a first," he said in strangled tones.

"And last. I soon put them in their place."

"And let's not forget Buttercup Wean and Grania Frayne," said Professor Sprout. "I've got bubotuber pus all over my greenhouses - first years aren't supposed to touch the stuff! Wean and Frayne decided to have a duel behind the potting shed and as for - "

"Nuala Finnegan," said Lupin. "Oh, yes. What mischief the Coppel twins miss, she thinks up."

"The first flying lesson was...interesting," said Madam Hooch. "If they listened to one word I said it was by accident and - "

"You're right," said Snape with resignation. "It's all my fault. And I'm really really sorry. There. Better? Or would you like to hear about the explosion caused by Shirley Thweat from Hufflepuff, which left a hole in the Potions room floor - despite all my wards? Or the second year Gryffindor boy who thought it might be amusing to try a Cheering Charm on me."

"What have you done with him?" demanded Professor McGonagall instantly.

"Not what I wanted to," Snape said, with obvious regret. "The damn charm worked. Not that young Mr Knowles - or anyone else present - realised that of course. Fortunately the charm was weak enough for me to overcome it before I started to grin inanely at the class but it was a near thing. March, you might want to keep an eye on him, he continues to show a promise ahead of his years. But for now I'm afraid Mr Knowles will be spending the next three Wednesday evenings in detention."

"But Wednesday is our night for Quidditch practice on the main pitch," protested Professor McGonagall.

"No? Is it? That's terrible," said Snape, bland as milk.

"Minerva, don't let that wretched boy do this to you," said Professor Sprout, laughing.

"Given that Gryffindor failed to get the Friday night practice slot again," said Professor McGonagall, glaring at Snape before her expression changed when she realised he was in pain. Glancing up, she saw that Black and Lupin had noticed and that Poppy was inconspicuously taking more readings.

"I seem to be coping with the caretaking side of things," said Black, out of the blue. "And I've been doing as much reading as I can fit in. It occurred to me that I could always take some more of Severus' classes. If you want," he added, when Snape opened his eyes.

"What I want has very little bearing on - Yes. Thank you," added Snape, with obvious reluctance. "If you could take the fourth and fifth years, as well as the sixth forms?"

"Wouldn't you rather off-load the juniors?" asked Madam Hooch.

"Of course. But I don't trust him to stop them blowing themselves up," said Snape. "By the fourth year they've either mastered the basic principles or killed themselves. Realistically, I'm unlikely to be able to fulfill all my teaching obligations for some time to come. The Dark Lord has made it clear I'll be interrogating Death Eaters every night for the foreseeable future."

"But he must know that you need sleep," protested Professor Sprout.

Snape just looked at her. "Don't be absurd. I'm allowed back here only because he believes I've increased my power base - and that I'm supplying useful snippets of information. He already knew of my 'hold' over Minerva."

"Draco?" asked Lupin.

Snape shrugged. "Probably. But I can't be certain. And because I'm still stuck at his side I don't get the chance to hear the gossip in the ranks. At least we now know the rationale behind the murder of the Muggles. We might even be able to protect some."

"We do? This is the first I've heard of it," said Flitwick, glancing at Dumbledore.

"My apologies. Between the Ministry and... Dementors will guard the school with effect from tomorrow."

"And so it begins," said Black, his face white with dread.

"Inside the grounds?" queried Madam Hooch, her eyes fierce.

"No, it isn't quite that bad," said Dumbledore. "Outside the boundary wall but I'm afraid their presence will still be felt throughout the school. Not least by ourselves. But rather than dwell on something that can't be changed we should move on. Severus, perhaps you would bring everyone up-to-date on developments."

"The Dark Lord is murdering Muggles for money," said Snape bluntly, his voice rising effortlessly over the various exclamations. "The selection of victims is far from random and, ironically, it owes much to the laws of the Muggle world. Freyja has been working on the topic but Vol - the Dark Lord - inadvertently confirmed everything she had begun to suspect. While some Muggles are selected because of their relationship with key pupils or known opponents, the majority of victims are chosen because they're wealthy - although, obviously, he doesn't care how many others die in an attack. The generation of fear is a valuable tool. But it seems that Tom Riddle was interested in genealogy - presumably in an attempt to deny the taint, as he saw it, of Muggle blood. During his researches he gained possession of an extensive family tree. He's murdering his way through that. As you know, wizarding inheritance laws are unbreakable so even Voldemort can't gain the benefit of the wealth or estates of the wizards he murders. But in the Muggle world he's murdering every branch of a family until ultimately there is only one heir remaining - Tom Riddle. I can only presume that he has somehow managed to convince the Muggle authorities that Riddle is still alive. The how hardly seems to matter."

"The bastard," said Professor Sprout eventually, her voice so flat that it wasn't until Snape glanced up and saw the expression in her eyes that he realised how angry she was. "And of course we wouldn't spot the pattern because of the variety of names that would be involved, and none of them would be familiar to us. I suppose he needs the money to draw in more Death Eaters. But why doesn't he simply attack Gringotts? That bank is the bedrock of wizarding society."

"Which is why even he would hesitate to go that far," said Snape. "Nothing inflames the passions like money."

"Besides," said Bill, "Voldemort's first break-in caused Gringotts to lose face. Their defences have been augmented to a degree where even he would think twice. If you want confirmation, the mere fact he hasn't attempted to rob the bank again is proof enough."

"What about this family tree?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"The likelihood of my being able to see that are remote to non-existent," said Snape. "But analysis of those who have already died should suggest key families, whose remaining descendants could be warned - or protected. We need Muggle help with this. I wondered if Peter Frayne...?"

"I'll owl him," Dumbledore promised.

"Fortunately the attacks on Muggles seem to have slowed while Vol - the Dark Lord - is purging his Death Eaters," continued Snape, in the same flat, disquieting voice. "Everyone is afraid - from Pettigrew, through Malfoy, to the newest recruit. In the past a punishment session had a specific purpose - even if it was only that of entertainment. Now... Now the Dark Lord doesn't even bother to watch. Or seem to remember who he has already killed. His mind veers off at tangents and a conversation with him is fraught with difficulty - not least because some of the time he just doesn't make sense. His physical appearance is changing again."

"The effects of the unicorn blood?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"How would I know?" said Snape, before he grimaced in what an optimist could have taken for an apology. "There's little enough information on the prolonged ingestion of unicorn blood - simply because no one has ever been mad enough to take it in these quantities." He stopped abruptly and clasped his left forearm in a useless attempt to stop the inevitable.

"Who is Voldemort's Potions Master?" asked Black abruptly.

"I don't even know if he has one," said Snape. "There's been nothing as subtle as potions in the way he's been murdering Muggles or wizards alike. And - " His head bowing, for a while the only sound was his uneven breathing as the pain intensified, peaked and slowly receded again.

"You must go," said Dumbledore. "I'll walk with you to the main gate."

"Albus..."

"I'll walk with you. It's the least I can do," he said firmly.

And because each night it became harder and harder to make that walk, knowing that once outside the gates he must don his Death Eater's gown and mask and Apparate to some new horror, Snape made no further protest.


	22. Chapter 22

TWENTY TWO

Hermione had assumed she had mentally covered every contingency with regard to her relationship with Severus, until she realised she had failed to allow for the simple fact of just how much she would miss his often acerbic company. It seemed strange that someone who stimulated her on every level should seem so restful - or perhaps it was nothing more than the fact she could be wholly herself with him. She hadn't even had the opportunity to thank him for the book.

The long weeks of the summer, extended by Dumbledore's creative use of the time turner, had wrapped her in a comforting cocoon; term-time had ripped that from her within hours. More than anything, she missed him, but she slowly admitted to a growing resentment that Hogwarts had been taken over by noisy hordes of careless children who had no idea of the battle being fought on their behalf. She had also failed to allow for the fact that she no longer felt like a pupil - oh, she could act the role, but that was all it was, acting. She had always spent her time outside school in the company of adults - Harry and Ron had been the first real friends of her own age - but now her classmates seemed like strangers: and young, very young. Oddly enough, those she seemed to be able to talk to best were those who had lost family members to Voldemort - perhaps there was something about knowing your parents had been killed because of who, and what, you were, that forced you to grow up. She increasingly felt as if the box into which she had been asked to repackage herself was too small for her; some days she thought she must stifle. There was little in her course work to hold her attention - she had already covered the syllabus, moving beyond it in some subjects.

Without work to distract her, worry for Severus filled her mind. The blurring effect of the Appearance Detracting Charm made it difficult to establish his physical well-being beyond the fact he wasn't actually writhing on the floor in agony. His sour expression was one she had taken for granted for six years, although that was difficult to reconcile with the man she was coming to know. He had yet to take a senior Potions class but the first and second years still looked suitably traumatised when they emerged from the dungeons, so she presumed he hadn't mellowed, or lost his flare for drama.

Rather than being set practical work for Potions, the Upper Sixth were sent to the library to research the complex essays set for them. In the first week there had been only celebrations that Snape was away so much - not to mention scurrilous rumours about why. By the end of the third week, during which the new professor, Quinapalus Pinchbeck, had taken Snape's classes - a faint, disgruntled note could be heard from a number of the Upper Sixth. Snape was still a bastard but during their six years at Hogwarts he had become their bastard, and they wanted him back to see them through their N.E.W.T.s.

For Hermione each day came into focus only when she knew Severus had returned from Voldemort, the cycle repeated day after day. While she glimpsed him in the corridors and once at High Table, she had no contact with him for the first three weeks of term. The staff had held one meeting of the Inner Circle, although from what the headmaster had told her it didn't sound as if anything important had been discussed, apart from news of the interrogations and subsequent executions. Ron must be more squeamish than she thought because he'd turned quite pale, though Harry hardly seemed to be paying attention. He never made any contribution to the Inner Circle discussions and she was pretty sure he hadn't even brought himself up-to-date on the information compiled so far. There again, he didn't need to, she reminded herself; as the Boy Who Lived he had faced and defeated Voldemort seven times.

But everything was dominated by the silent, sinister menace of the Dementors, whose black figures could be seen outside the boundary wall, their hooded faces staring up at the castle as if they thought will-power alone would enable them to breach the protective wards which kept them out. No one in Hogwarts was wholly immune from the blight they cast but some suffered more than others. Many juniors were sleeping badly, and inclined to be tearful; tempers were frayed from the lowliest first former to the staff. Because Dementors could see through any attempt at disguise, including invisibility cloaks, Black never went out of doors and grew pale and increasingly terse, while the lines on Lupin's face deepened, his normally equable temper fraying by the day. Harry suffered worst of all, although typically he made no complaint; the only indication was his increased irritability.

All in all, it was a miserable beginning to the start of the new academic year.

 

After a cold beginning to the new school year the temperature had risen to the seasonal norm, then kept on climbing. The waters of the lake began to evaporate, revealing mud banks that smelt appalling until they caked and cracked open. There was no sign of the Mer people who, it was presumed, had taken shelter in the cool depths at the centre. Dumbledore decreed that everyone must get some fresh air. Wary of the menace of the Dementors, pupils had relaxed to a degree when even Dumbledore himself came out into the grounds, moving between the various groups, making sure he spoke to as many people as possible, offering sweets and whimsical jokes and like a one-man Patronus reducing the impact of the Dementors on the other side of the perimeter wall.

Skilfully evading his fan club amongst the Gryffindor juniors, Harry hid himself away in the old orchard. Everyone had been given permission to leave off their robes and minimal clothing was the order of the day. His favourite tee shirt with the embossed stag in the wash, he was wearing another in Gryffindor colours bearing the legend 'Seekers always find the Snitch'. Not that he'd know, he thought glumly as he worried the skin at the side of his thumb, while keeping an eye out in case Millicent should come this way. He usually managed to manufacture a couple of 'accidental' meetings with her each week - although he'd had most success in the library. She was working hard for her N.E.W.T.s - and despite parental displeasure, wanted to train as a Quidditch coach. She certainly knew her strategy...

It was so hot that the unheard of had happened and Quidditch practice had been cancelled. In truth, it was something of a relief for the Gryffindor captain. Even sitting on the grass, as far away from the Dementors as it was possible to get while still in the grounds of Hogwarts, Harry had to fight not to sink under the clammy pall of despair that they cast. They had always affected him more than anyone else but this term...

This term he felt as if he was losing himself. In the past, no matter how terrified he had been, he had felt centred, certain of his place in the world - beyond his role of the Boy Who Lived. But this term...

Harry rubbed absently at his scar and the ever-present headache. He had hardly seen anything of Hermione. Not that he could blame her. The only reason her parents had been murdered was because of him. Funny, he missed her more than he had expected to - particularly her bossing him around. He didn't see so much of Ron, either. Hardly surprising, given that Ron could take his pick of girls. Not that he seemed to be this term. While he hadn't said so, he was probably worried about his mum. Even Dumbledore seemed different; distracted and vaguer than usual, and his smile never seemed to reach his eyes.

Sirius and Remus were scared to death that the Dementors would discover Sirius. Harry had promised himself that he would do anything necessary to stop them from getting to Sirius. Snape only needed an excuse to give the man he hated up to the Dementors. If Snape ever did anything which resulted in Sirius being captured, he would make the greasy bastard wish he'd never left Voldemort's side...

Tense and on edge, Harry wheeled around when he heard running feet thudding on the sun-dried turf, but it was only Ron.

"Here, take this, quick," commanded Ron, holding out an extremely large ice lolly.

The wooden stick was already tacky from the beginning-to-melt fruit juice. Harry wasted no time in sampling the mouth-watering layers of fresh fruit flavourings, travelling through strawberry, banana, raspberry and apricot before he reached the blackcurrant centre. "'S wonderful. Where d'you get it?" he mumbled, through numbed lips and a mouthful of icy slush.

"Professor McGonagall. The whole school's got them. You should see Professor Flitwick eating his. If I didn't know better I'd swear he was a few twigs short of a broomstick. Shove up a bit, this patch of shade is shrinking. Phew. You can smell the lake even from here. I don't know if it's just my imagination but the giant squid looks sickly to me."

"Probably just the heat," said Harry, with a studied lack of interest. Since the Triwizard Tournament he tended to avoid the lake. "No one in their right minds would get in that water the way it smells."

"Yeah. Mum's ankles are all swollen. She says she can't ever remember it being this hot in September. But then it's been a while since she's been pregnant, so who knows," Ron added tolerantly. "You haven't forgotten it's Hermione's birthday in three days? Her eighteenth."

"Oh, bugger. Is it? Any idea what we get her?" asked Harry, without much hope. While Hermione had always been very polite about the presents they had selected for her over the years, he had come to realise that they'd never got it right yet.

"I was hoping you could think of something. Besides books, that is."

"What about your mum?"

"Oh, she's knitting Hermione a jumper," grinned Ron.

"No, I mean can't she help us? She's a woman. She must know what - "

"This is Hermione we're talking about."

"Yeah. Books it is then," said Harry with gloom. "I'll owl Flourish and Blotts for their catalogue. Is it me, or has Hermione been getting a lot of owls recently?"

"It's stuff to do with her parents and that lawyer Dumbledore found for her," said Ron vaguely.

"Oh. I thought she'd been a bit quiet." Taking a deep breath, Harry added in a rush, "Can I ask you something? Something personal, I mean?"

Ron looked distinctly wary. "Course," he said, with would-be nonchalance.

"D'you ever think about sex?"

Ron snorted. "You mean more than fifty times a day?"

"Oh." Harry could not conceal his relief.

"You are a prat," Ron told him. "Course I do. We all do. Though at least it's better than it was in the fourth year. When it was difficult to concentrate, what with getting hard every time - "

"Yeah," interrupted Harry, that not a period of his life he looked back on with much fondness. "Only I still feel like that - only worse." He studied his feet and willed the embarrassment away.

"A few games of Quidditch should help," said Ron, with tact. A discussion about Harry's non-existent private life held more dangers than reaching the Philosopher's Stone - not least because Harry's temper had become so unpredictable. But then the Dementors had always affected Harry more than anyone else.

"I hope so," said Harry with gloom. "Except my game's turned to crap. The moment I come outside, all I can feel is...the Dementors," he admitted, after a moment.

"What? Even now?"

His mouth compressed, because he hadn't intended to whine about that, too, Harry nodded.

"Then let's go back inside," said Ron practically. "We could ask Susan Bones if she's got any ideas about what we could get Hermione."

"Not Lavender?" said Harry, as he got to his feet.

"It's lucky you're not this unobservant on the Quidditch pitch. Lavender understands Hermione only slightly less than Hermione understands Lavender. And you don't understand either of them. The thing about women," Ron continued, with a knowing air that made Harry want to thump him, "is that you have to pay attention to what they like and do and say and think. All the time."

Harry stared at him, aghast.

"I didn't say it was easy," said Ron.

It occurred to Harry that his could be a long and lonely life.

"Oh, oh," said Ron, wearing a spreading grin. "Isn't that your fan club I see over there? Far be it for me to get in the way, I'm off."

"You git," said Harry with feeling.

"That's me," said Ron unsympathetically, just before the group of over-excited, Quidditch-mad juniors arrived. He left Harry to their tender mercies and went to look for Snape. Since learning of the interrogations Snape was conducting, Ron's sleep had been patchy at best, his peace of mind destroyed by the knowledge that Percy's life might depend on Snape's always questionable goodwill.

He eventually located Snape beyond the Quidditch pitches, under the shade of an old walnut tree. The only member of staff to still be wearing his robes, he looked like a crow in a flock of parrots as he stood in a half-circle of chattering Slytherin first years. Ron spared a moment's pity for the poor little sods - at least McGonagall had left them pretty much to their own devices outside the classroom.

"If you don't stop shoving me, Aniseed Twig," warned a skinny girl, whose plaits stuck out at right angles.

"Miss Flax, if you're intending to hex your companion, kindly have the good sense not to do so under my nose," drawled Snape. "One more display like that and I'll be compelled to deduct points from Slytherin for your stupidity."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," she added glibly, raising would-be guileless blue eyes to his face.

Snape studied her with all the enthusiasm of someone finding something dubious on the sole of his shoe. "We'll discuss subtlety another day.

"Miss Twig, insulting Miss Flax's parents is hardly an effective defence. No wonder the pair of you are doing so poorly in Charms. All that is required for the successful completion of a charm is focus and control. Both of which qualities all of you seem to lack." His gaze encompassed the group in front of him, none of whom looked particularly cowed. "I shall return after I've spoken with Mr Weasley, at which point I shall endeavour to improve your wrist movements. Anyone taking out their wand before my return will incur my displeasure, are we quite clear on that point? Excellent."

Leaving the jostling group behind him, Snape moved over to where Ron stood and said, "I was under the impression that we had agreed to discuss your infraction of the rules in my office in twenty minutes time."

Ron blinked his surprised, then belatedly caught on; Snape was good at this. "Yes. Sorry," he said, doing his best to hide his gratitude, not least for Snape's abilities as a mind-reader. "I'll be there."

"See that you are. Don't let me detain you," added Snape pointedly.

As Ron headed back across the sun-bleached grass, he could hear Snape saying, "Miss Finnegan, kindly desist in your attempts to demonstrate your origins and come down from that branch. Next time you want to retrieve something, you might care to remember you're a witch. Everyone, take out your wands."

The sounds of Snape teaching his first years the Accio charm faded into the distance as Ron headed for the kitchens for a snack to keep him going until dinner. Licking the sugar from his fingers as he finished a jam doughnut, he headed off to the old orchard, to see if Harry needed rescuing, only for Harry to make him jump as he came up behind him before he was halfway there.

"I can't believe you left me to those kids. I thought I was never going to get away," complained Harry, scowling.

"They look up to you," said Ron peaceably.

Harry snorted. "Then more fool them. They'll soon realise that the only thing I'm any use for is to get rid of Voldemort."

Taken aback by the venom in Harry's voice, it was a moment before Ron could think how to respond. "Careful, you're starting to sound like Snape," he said, trying to make a joke of it.

Harry stopped dead, his face going red with temper. "You take that back! I'm nothing like that faithless bastard! Can you believe this, Dumbledore said that if he has time Snape will be taking us for the Ethics of Magic? What would a Death Eater know about ethics? He should be locked up in Azkaban, not being allowed to corrupt children. He's - "

"Ssh," said Ron frantically. "What if someone heard you?"

"You think people don't know what Snape is?"

"Harry, you know they don't and if word gets out... Snape could be killed. You've got to - "

"Do what? Listen to you? I don't think so. I - "

"That will do, Mr Potter!" said Professor McGonagall from behind them.

It was only as they turned to see McGonagall and Snape a few paces behind them that Ron appreciated that Harry had known Snape was there all the time; it was McGonagall's presence that had surprised him. Troubled by such untypical spite from Harry, he studied his feet.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter," said Professor McGonagall with icy displeasure. "Come with me, we have matters best discussed in private. I don't want to hear one more word from you until we are in the meeting room, where we can be certain we can't be overheard."

Only when she swept off, with a rebellious looking Harry in tow, did Ron venture a glance at Snape. It told him nothing, Snape wearing his usual sour expression.

"I'm not trying to make excuses for Harry or anything, because he's been behaving like an arsehole recently, but he's under a lot of strain," said Ron, feeling awkward and disloyal about going behind Harry's back, yet knowing something needed to be said. "The Dementors - "

"Duly noted," said Snape. "As we can't be overheard, or overlooked, I see no need to go to my office. What was it that you wanted earlier?"

"About Percy... Is he - ?"

"I haven't seen him, if that's what you're asking," interrupted Snape. "Not since he took the Dark Mark. As far as I am aware he's been told to spy on Fudge and make his reports to Bruce Cabot. If - when - I have to question him, I have every confidence in my ability to keep Percy alive. Unless he is particularly stupid."

The relief was so great that for a moment Ron didn't trust himself to speak. "Thank you," he remembered to say. "You'd let me know if - ?"

"Of course."

Ron nodded. About to leave, he hesitated.

"What now?" asked Snape, looking resigned.

"Is there anything I can do to help? You, I mean," added Ron, braced for insult. The flicker of surprise which Snape was too tired to hide didn't do much for his self-esteem. "We are supposed to be on the same side," he said stubbornly.

"You can best help me by learning to spell 'differentiate,' and by not making unsubstantiated statements in your essays."

"I'm serious," snapped Ron.

It was always disconcerting to watch the child become a man. Snape studied him for a moment more. Ron had been handling himself well through all of this, but the strain was beginning to show. Small wonder. They were all showing signs of wear.

"So was I. While you're never likely to be a star pupil, I expect you to pass your N.E.W.T.s with a respectable grade."

"Oh," said Ron, before he grinned. "I can ease up then."

Snape just looked at him.

Ron's grin faded. "How will I know if - ?" He ground to a halt, afraid even to put it into words.

"Percy is unlikely to catch the Dark Lord's eye," Snape murmured, barely moving his lips - a skill first learnt in his first year at Hogwarts, and perfected down the years. "With regard to Potter... Try not to let him drive you away," he added quietly, before he brushed past Ron and headed up the steep escarpment.

Ron was so surprised that it didn't occur to him to keep up with Snape and by the time he thought to follow him the other man had disappeared from sight.

***

 

If it hadn't been for Harry and Ron's heavy-handed hints Hermione would have forgotten all about her eighteenth birthday, which fell on a Friday this year. Her coming of age resulted in a shower of gifts and congratulations and while she put a brave face on in front of her classmates, for Hermione the occasion was primarily yet another reminder that her parents were dead. Wrapped up in private grief, she was unaware of Madam Pomfrey's anxious glances, or Professor McGonagall's attempts to encourage her to unburden herself.

***

 

In an attempt to get away from the children who plagued his every waking hour and some of the ones when he should have been sleeping, Black took refuge in the meeting room to catch up on some Defence Against the Dark Arts reading, ready for when he must stand in for Lupin. He found Hermione there, her expression desolate, her face wet with tears where she sat by a window, staring sightlessly out across the grounds.

His expression gentling, Black crouched beside her and awkwardly patted her back. "Of course you miss them. They would be so proud of you - and the work you're doing. As are we all. Now, blow your nose and see if you can help me. I'm trying to work out a lesson plan for Remus' classes and while I know he would help I'd rather not rub his nose in it."

A short time later the area around the sofa they occupied was covered in books and parchments and Black and Hermione were deep in discussion.

"Thank you," she said with gratitude, sitting back some time later.

Black didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "As I know to my cost, it helps to keep the mind active. The last couple of years, when I was stuck in my animagus form for weeks on end, there were times when I thought I would go mad."

"It's feeling a bit like that to me this term," she admitted. "I did all my course work during the holidays and once you've got the hang of focus and concentration the practicals aren't much of a challenge unless you take up a subject at S Level."

Black eyed her thoughtfully. "Remus has always said you're one of the brightest pupils he's ever come across. Have a word with March. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to start your S Level course early. If you're sure it won't interfere with your work for your N.E.W.T.s "

"I could take them tomorrow," said Hermione listlessly.

"Well, in the meantime, shouldn't you be changing for that birthday party you're not supposed to know about. That is..." He looked suddenly worried.

"With Harry and Ron organising it?" Her smile unshadowed, as it rarely was these days, Hermione got to her feet. "Still, they'll have a good time."

"You don't like parties, Miss Granger?"

"I can't think of much to celebrate these days - particularly with the Dementors on our doorstep. I haven't seen... Did he get back safely this morning?"

"Who? Oh. You're worried about Snape?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Well, yes, of course you are," Black said hastily. "Even I am. To a degree. It's just that old habits die hard."

Hermione waved that aside. "So is he all right?" she demanded anxiously.

"Yes. He's tired of course, but otherwise fine, so don't you give him another thought. Feel free to call on me any time you want some diversion. Now you go off and have a good time," Black added, as if she was eight, rather than eighteen. "Oh, and happy coming of age." He placed the lightest of kisses on the back of her hand, making her smile at the old-fashioned gesture, before she excused herself and flooed back to the hospital wing, from which she made her way back to her bedroom.

Reluctantly heading out of this haven from the Gryffindor second years, Black found himself being thrust against the wall, Snape's wand at his throat, strong fingers bracketing his jaw with a painful grasp.

"What the fuck - ?" croaked Black, too unnerved by the expression on Snape's face to think to retaliate.

"How dare you make assignations with a student! If you've - " Literally shaking with emotion, Snape stopped dead when he recognised the blank astonishment on Black's face.

"Little Hermione? Me and - ? You silly sod," said Black tolerantly, as he brushed aside Snape's now nerveless grasp. "You really should get some sleep. You look like crap and your brain is obviously turning to mush. It's her birthday. She was crying because she misses her parents. I distracted her with a debate about the Dark Arts. As for the idea of me chasing students... Are you insane? I have to spend more than enough time with the little buggers as it is. I don't know how you've stood it all these years," he added frankly. "Besides, she's just a child."

Snape flinched, turned on his heel and left the room without a word.

Black grimaced, wondered briefly what that had been about, and went back to work.

***

 

Draco's studied air of languor gave him something of a following amongst the junior girls, although according to gossip none had succumbed to his charms. Hermione had been conscious of attracting more attention from him than she wanted since term began, although he had never addressed her directly. Those veiled eyes slid over her, making her feel grubby in a way that Crabbe's uncomplicated and undisguised lust never did.

Her nerves strung out because a portion of her brain was always wondering if Severus was back yet and how badly he had been hurt, she overslept on Monday morning and was late for the unpopular early shift of prefect duty. After dealing with one duel and an outright punch-up amongst some Gryffindor second years, which left her channelling her inner Snape at their stupidity, she was so late for breakfast that she had time only for half a cup of cold coffee. Snape wasn't at High Table, she had cramps and had forgotten to take her Leniomensis and Draco's eyes felt as if they should be leaving a trail of slime over her breasts.

She made a quick detour up to the hospital wing, took the potion, snapped at Madam Pomfrey's concerned queries about her appearance and arrived late for her Transfiguration class, where she had to endure a sharp lecture from Professor McGonagall about punctuality.

A headache vied with the cramps.

By the mid-morning break the Leniomensis had kicked in but she still hadn't seen Snape and her imagination was working overtime. The urge to rearrange Malfoy's milk-white face was growing by the second.

Hermione made a lengthy detour to get to her Defence Against the Dark Arts class in the hope of glimpsing Severus - or anyone who could tell her if he was back safely. But she had seen no one who could help. She grimaced when she saw Draco and Gregory Goyle standing a few yards from the open door of the classroom.

"Here's our resident Mudblood. Late again? Still hunting for the pieces of your parents, I suppose," drawled Draco, giving the faintest of smiles when she flinched. "I hear dogs made off with some bits of your mother. There are some interesting uses for Mudblood body parts in the Dark Arts. Although there's only one use for a - "

Hermione didn't even hear the crude sexual insult; her world had narrowed to Draco's mocking face, his strangulated vowel sounds echoing in her ears. There had been nothing in the papers about the dismembered bodies. He must have heard about it at home. If anyone understood the Dark Arts, it would Lucius Malfoy...

"Listening at keyholes while daddy boasts about killing defenceless Muggles?" she said, her voice tight and unfamiliar with the effort of holding in her rage, her wand already in her hand. It shook. Two words, that was all it required to kill someone. Two words and the will to enforce them...

Hermione thrust the temptation behind her. There were other ways. Oblivious to classmates spilling from the classroom at the sound of raised voices, she took a useful, innocuous charm and twisted it into a hex. Her focus absolute, she had no idea that battle lines were being drawn up behind her until a familiar voice cut through the buzzing in her ears.

"Expelliarmus!" Holding four peoples' wands in his hand, Snape stood between Draco and herself, his black robes still fluttering around him with the speed with which he had moved to intervene. "That's enough! One way or another, I will have silence."

Hermione flinched, then blinked, while around her angry faces became sullen and watchful. Despite the wards in the corridors, which she had overcome without even thinking about it, she could feel the pulses of magic in the air and her hands began to shake as she appreciated what she had almost precipitated.

"That's better," continued Snape. "Yes, Mr Weasley, I have your wands. They will be returned when I'm satisfied you're to be trusted with them. Mr Potter, stop emoting like a first year!" He had already reversed Hermione's hex, which had frozen Draco with the terror which came from hearing an Engorgement Charm applied to his testicles. His own wanted to crawl back up into his body at the very idea of such an assault, although he had managed to stop the hex before Draco had suffered any trauma - except to his nerves.

Green with fright, Malfoy glared at Hermione. "You cun - "

"Be grateful you don't need a trolley to wheel your bollocks around in front of you. If you - "

Ron saw Snape's expression and slapped a hand over Hermione's mouth. With Blaise Zabini on one side and Gregory Goyle on the other, Draco had the sense to keep quiet. Under the disguising folds of his robe he surreptitiously checked out the area in question with a shaking hand.

Snape's icy gaze tracked Lupin as he hurried towards them. "Professor. Had you been on time, this brawl could have been averted. I shall return your class to you when I've finished with them."

While his mouth tightened, Lupin had the sense not to respond in kind in public and he went into the classroom.

Snape returned his attention to the sulky faces around him. "Mr Malfoy, we'll discuss this further in my office, six thirty. Miss Granger, it isn't my habit to deduct House points from those in the Upper Sixth. However, given your appalling behaviour... Two hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor. One can only be thankful that sanity prevailed and you weren't made head girl."

Snape's chilly gaze swept around the group: Hermione was staring at him as if he'd slapped her; his dignity bruised after his fright, Malfoy would send a whining owl to Lucius; only Finnegan's grip was keeping Potter subdued; and everyone else was glaring at him with impotent dislike.

"Clearly you all have far too much time on your hands. I want a ten foot essay, with all the relevant footnotes in addition, on the merits and side-effects of the various sedatives we covered last term. By half-term. From the entire class," he added.

The protests were predictable and vocal; he allowed them only a few seconds of life.

"Any more childish displays of this kind and that will be the least of your worries. You're prefects - try to remember as much and display a modicum of self-control. If you have a class, I suggest you go to it."

As he swept on his way, confident that he had successfully redirected their hated, Snape heard light footsteps hurrying after him and knew that Hermione was following him. He even knew what she would say, despite the fact anyone could be listening.

"Professor Snape! Malfoy just confirmed - "

He swung around fast enough to make her flinch. "One more word, Miss Granger and I'll make that three hundred points from Gryffindor and a detention to be served with the first years. Do I make myself plain? You have responsibilities beyond your petty concerns." Every word was edged like a razor.

Her eyes narrowed but on this occasion her temper held. After a moment she gave a jerky nod, turned on her heel and walked off, still vibrating with echo of the killing rage she had only just managed to control.

 

Hermione stalked around the meeting room, wondering how Dumbledore had persuaded her to come down here to cool off when she should be investigating the Malfoy family's part in the murder of her parents. If Draco had been involved she'd kill him - with her bare hands if her wand was kept from her.

At the click of the heavy door latch she wheeled around in time to see Snape enter the room. She waited only until he had closed the door. "Draco knew how my parents died," she said, the intensity of her anger making her voice shake. "He knew about the dogs. That wasn't in the papers. He taunted me about it and you're going to talk to him!" She was in no mood to try to interpret Snape's expression as he slowly crossed the large room.

"The more gruesome aspects of your parents' death are widely known, despite the fact they weren't reported. Malfoy's taunts prove nothing."

"Oh, it's proved one thing to me," she said in an unfamiliar voice. Accusation blazed from her as she eyed him with contempt.

Snape leant against the wall and folded his arms. "You know better than that," he said after a moment.

At any other time Hermione would have recognised that veiled appeal for understanding. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"Albus sent me."

"You wouldn't have come to speak to me otherwise?"

"You know I wouldn't," he said quietly.

"Well, that's honest enough," she said with a trace of bitterness.

There was a small silence, during which Snape studied the floor. Just as a snake was unable to shrug back into its cast-off skin, he was finding it more difficult than he had anticipated to resume his former role. Worse, instead of a pupil, he saw only Hermione. Although quite what she saw...

Despite his better judgement, he came the closest he dared to asking outright for reassurance. "It seems to me that honesty is all we have," he said.

"Unlike friendship, support, loyalty..."

While his expression didn't change, he looked down for a moment, marshalling his thoughts. "Now you've made it obvious to Malfoy that he has a formidable weapon, he won't hesitate to use it against you. Guard against losing your temper with him again. It's a luxury you can't afford."

Hermione stopped pacing to stare at him, some of the antagonism fading from her face. "I didn't intend to make things more difficult for you."

"I thrive on difficulty," Snape said with heavy irony. "It doesn't matter," he added, wondering tiredly what Albus had thought this meeting would achieve. Although one more person looking at him with contempt shouldn't make that much difference. Except that this was Hermione. "I can only urge you to allow your normal common sense free rein," he said, finally admitting his fear for her. "Malfoy is out of his depth, with many difficult decisions to make, while desperate to prove himself - not least to his father. And you do not want Lucius Malfoy as your enemy. Minerva will return your wand to you after lunch. She wants a word."

"More than one, I'm sure. Lucius Malfoy was one those responsible for murdering my parents," Hermione added, emotion flattened from her voice.

Undeceived, Snape watched her pace. "You're probably correct. Not for sport though, but to improve his standing with the Dark Lord."

"Oh, well, that's all right then."

Snape grimaced. "You seem determined to misunderstand me."

"I'm just wondering why you should feel it's necessary to defend him."

A muscle jumping in his cheek, Snape stared at her but by a visible effort of will said nothing.

"Draco insinuated that any missing...that body parts of the murdered could be used in the Dark Arts."

"Yes."

Her mouth dry, her palms wet and her heart racing, Hermione added, "Do you think that's what happened to the remains of my parents?"

"Possibly," said Snape, wondering if she was going to vomit.

"You don't know?" Disbelief echoed in her voice.

Despite himself, it stung. "No."

"You're not much use at getting information from Voldemort, are you?"

"This isn't achieving anything," said Snape tiredly, trying not to watch her angry pacing up and down the room.

Hermione slowed to a halt. "No. That was a cheap shot. I don't know why I should be making you my whipping boy."

"Don't you? I can think of several reasons. All of which you have to find a way to deal with. Exercise a little of that maturity you claim to possess."

That struck a nerve, not least because she knew it was justified on her recent behaviour. "Or what? You strike me off your Christmas card list? What have I got to lose? I don't have anything."

Snape's expression gave nothing away. When it became clear he was not going to reply Hermione made a sound of disgust and walked out of the room.

Snape watched her go, squinting, as if against a headache. He had expected no other reaction from her by this time, but it was disconcerting to realise he had not been as prepared for it as he had assumed. If he hadn't been so tired he would have realised what lay behind Dumbledore sending him to her. Albus had made no secret of his disapproval - and distaste - for any relationship between a member of staff and a pupil.

He had no one but himself to blame. Stupid enough to fancy himself romantically in love, but to imagine he had it in him to make anyone happy, least of all...

Weighted down with fatigue and stress, yet too tired to sleep, he labouriously extricated himself from his robe and jacket, unfastening half the small buttons of his shirt before flapping the damp, creased fabric to create the illusion of a breeze. While he revelled in heat, the current temperatures made life unpleasant for everyone. He wondered vaguely why Cooling Charms applied to hot tea were so much more effective than those he applied to himself. He must have a word with March. If there was ever time.

He should be taking the opportunity to catch up on some marking, if only to keep track of what progress - if any - the third years were making under Black, but it required more concentration than he felt capable of right now.

Which didn't bode well for tonight.

If her temper got the better of her again and she tried to take on Malfoy... His stomach lurching, Snape stared blankly into the middle distance.

But if Voldemort had made use of...

He linked his unsteady hands over the top of his bowed head and willed himself to stop thinking.

***

 

Snape knew who stood on the other side of the door even before it opened; this close to the full moon Lupin's reek was unmistakable.

"Shouldn't you be confined by now?" Snape asked, surprised by how dark it had become while he had been thinking - or perhaps he had fallen asleep after all.

Because he hadn't been expecting that, given the improvement in their dealings with one another, Lupin flinched. "Not for another three days."

"What do you want?"

"Severus, this is important," said Lupin, more sharply.

"To me, or to you?"

"It concerns Harry." A change Lupin wasn't sure how to interpret crossed Snape's face.

"Doesn't it always? What's he done now?" he added with resignation. "If I didn't know better I would say he was suffering from arrested development."

On edge, Lupin was prowling up and down the large room. "Hardly surprising given his upbringing. He needs a male authority figure in his life."

"What Potter needs is a boot up the backside to encourage him to decide what he intends to do with his life," said Snape, trying not to think of the rolls of parchment which needed to be marked before the beginning of the new school week. If he wasn't summoned again tonight.

"Harry doesn't think he'll live long enough for that to matter," said Lupin flatly.

Snape sighed and sat down. "This is obviously going to take some time," he recognised. He tucked an inclined-to-shake hand from sight.

"Quinapalus and I are worried about Harry."

"So are Minerva and Albus," conceded Snape.

"And you?"

Snape gave a derisive snort.

"I'm serious," said Lupin, a snap in his normally pleasant voice as he stalked over to Snape, whose eyes narrowed.

"Are you sure you've got your dates right?"

An ugly colour suffused Lupin's face at the unnecessary reminder of how close he had come to infecting Snape during the summer, but all he said was, "Oh, no. You don't distract me that easily. We were talking about Harry. You're worried about him too. Aren't you?"

"My participation in this conversation seems irrelevant. I find him impertinent, truculent and selfish."

"You're not alone, this term," sighed Lupin, perching on the arm of a sofa and rubbing the back of his neck. "Although given his upbringing I suppose it's hardly to be wondered at if he should be slower than his classmates to mature. He's been lionized as the Boy Who Lived, and given virtual licence to do as he pleases by Albus. I suspect the years prior to Harry coming to Hogwarts were somewhat different and I doubt if the three months of the summer he's had to spend with those Muggle relatives each year have helped. Rather than having the opportunity to develop 'normal' social contacts, during which he can make all the usual mistakes of judgement and taste, Harry is locked in his bedroom."

"Don't be absurd," dismissed Snape, insulted that Lupin should imagine he would swallow that piece of nonsense.

"It's the truth." His tone measured, his manner unexcited, Lupin told Snape all that he knew of Harry's life amongst the Muggles. While Snape was too experienced to react, he had made no further attempt to interrupt.

"...any wonder he's resentful when his parents are denigrated at every opportunity? Until Harry came to Hogwarts his bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs. I'm serious," Lupin snapped, when Snape opened his mouth. "They used to lock him in every night and - "

"I get the picture." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can easily arrange matters so that Pinchbeck tutors Harry in Potions."

"While that might help, there's a small problem."

"Pinchbeck's personality?"

"This isn't helping, Severus. Quinapalus tries so hard. Too hard. After twelve years in Azkaban he mistrusts his own impulses. In consequence he can't bring himself to be everything Harry needs - a disciplinarian, for one. He'll take Harry to task for wearing his tie crookedly, yet allow him speak to... Sirius is afraid to do or say anything which might risk alienating Harry."

"Ah, your reason for seeking me out becomes apparent," said Snape dryly. "I don't understand why you're talking to me. If Harry needs a male authority figure he has Albus. And you."

"Albus is...Albus. Harry won't talk to him. As for me, I'm a werewolf."

"For three days a month. The rest of the time..." Snape paused, looking as if he had an appalling smell under his nose. "I'm prepared to concede that I may have been mistaken about you. To a degree. And you can take that fatuous grin off your face. You're a Gryffindor, you bond with the insolent little bastard. Harry likes you."

"I know he does. I'm also Sirius' partner. And while we - Sirius - hasn't told Harry yet, unless Harry's a complete idiot he must suspect. Which means he won't talk to me because he can't be certain I wouldn't tell Sirius."

"And would you?"

About to reply, Lupin paid Snape the courtesy of thinking about it. "I hope I wouldn't betray his confidence, but realistically it would depend what Harry was talking about. No, he couldn't trust me. Not one hundred per cent."

"Then speak to March," said Snape.

There was something approaching affection in Lupin's smile by now. "How old were you before you learnt to appreciate March Flitwick?"

"Then what about Arthur Weasley? Or Bill, or Charlie?" said Snape, evading the question.

"All too close to Ron."

"Let's be quite clear about this Remus. I am already an authority figure in Potter's life. I am not about to attempt to become his confident or mentor. Not that I could," Snape added realistically. "He hates me."

"He resents you," corrected Lupin. "But at least he doesn't ignore you."

"And this is a good thing because? Harry won't confide in me. Since he learnt that Voldemort... " Snape stopped, then forced himself to go on; missish evasions of the truth helped no one. "Since he learnt I've been sexually assaulted... His manner to me has undergone a marked change. Not for the better."

Lupin just stopped himself from offering anything that might be construed as sympathy when he saw Snape's glare. "It was an ill-conceived idea on my part. It's just that I wish I knew how to help Harry. Quite apart from the fact I like him - for his own sake as well as for James and Lily - realistically, Harry is our only hope against Voldemort."

Snape's wand hand twitched, but he managed to resist the temptation to blast Lupin across the room. Remus had only said what the majority of the wizarding world thought. For all the sentimental twaddle that was said about the boy, few people spared a thought for the person behind the name.

It wasn't the first time that it had occurred to Snape that he and Potter had more in common than their need for a male authority figure in their lives but he hadn't appreciated the degree to which Albus had made use of Harry from the very beginning. It was one thing to make use of an eighteen year old wizard; Harry had been eleven years old the first time...

"A number of this year's Upper Sixth will require an occupation that pays remuneration," Snape said. "Use the one-to-one career discussions to make Potter consider what he'll do when he leaves school. The Aurors will expect him to go to them. Which seems to me to be by far the most dangerous option. Their powers are already too wide, add Potter's unique abilities to that kind of unbridled power..."

"He would never turn to the Dark Arts. I would know. Surely? Oh, Merlin. You don't think Voldemort has found a way to - ?" Lupin stopped, unable to voice his greatest fear. "It would kill Sirius," he whispered, almost to himself.

"Ah, the one bright note in all this. I suggest we keep Potter too busy revising for his N.E.W.T.s to worry about world domination just yet. If he's shown an unusual interest in the Dark Arts I've heard no sign of it. Have you noticed any change?"

"He's usually about sixth in class overall," said Lupin. "Top in the practicals, of course. But this term he's consistently been in the bottom three."

"Has he indeed? Get Minerva to have a word with him. You know that if Sirius won't discipline Potter you'll have to," added Snape.

"I was afraid you'd say that," said Lupin.

Snape's retort died stillborn as his breath caught. Unable to move for a moment, the pain seared through the Dark Mark, demanding all of his attention. He swung away to rest his face against the wall while he rode out Voldemort's ungentle summons.

"Severus?"

The feral stink caught the back of his nose, but at least that warning stopped him from lashing out when Lupin touched him on the shoulder.

"Don't concern yourself," said Snape at last, when the pain had faded enough for him to be able to think of more than ways to claw off his arm. "It's just my master tugging at my leash. I have to go."

"Again? He hasn't missed a night. Do you need your robes and mask?" added Lupin, at his most practical.

"I carry them at all times, reduced and tucked away in an inner pocket. Tell Albus I've gone."

"Of course. Be careful," added Lupin awkwardly, because it seemed wrong that Severus should leave without some kind word.

 

Closing the hidden door at the base of Serpens Tower, which enabled him to come and go unnoticed by any curious eyes, Snape avoided the driveway as he headed for the main gates. With neither moon nor stars to light his way, the darkness pressed against him, the air still and heavy with heat; and yet he shivered, dread making it difficult to draw enough breath into his lungs.

The walk to the gates was always the hardest part. Death Eaters couldn't afford imaginations. Snape headed through the grounds, one foot at a time, as he tried to batten down all his inconvenient emotions. He wasn't having a lot of success when he caught a familiar drift of perfume. He stopped dead, before backtracking to the nearby stand of trees. Hermione stood in the shelter of an ancient yew tree whose trunk had split and split again over the centuries. He drew close enough to see that she was trembling, her chin raised, as it always was when she was afraid of something. With the Dementors so close, it wasn't difficult to imagine what had been affecting her.

"Are you mad?" Snape demanded, a faint, betraying crack in his voice. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing out here alone?" His fingers bit into her shoulders.

"I'm glad to see you, too," Hermione said, in a voice tight with a tension that had already begun to ease in his presence. Which showed a touching confidence in Severus' abilities, because realistically nothing but a strong Patronus worked against the Dementors and she had been too wary of drawing attention to herself to try it. "I know I shouldn't have come out here but - "

"You're right there," he said, releasing her and stepping back from temptation. "No one is supposed to be out after dark."

"And I won't make a habit of it. I've been trying to see you for what felt like hours. But first Professor McGonagall caught me and talked for ages, and by the time I got back to the meeting room you were just letting in Professor Lupin. It was already dark and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to see you before Voldemort summoned you. So it seemed sensible to come out here and wait for you by the gates." With Severus so comfortingly close, the morbid, Dementor-induced terrors were melting away. But it had been more difficult than she had anticipated to stay in position, every whisper of a sun-dried leaf becoming a Dementor creeping up behind her to touch her with a scaly hand.

"Sensible!"

"I've never heard your voice go that high before," Hermione said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

He stared at her with sudden hauteur. "Don't confuse me with Ron or Harry," he said coldly. "There's nothing remotely humorous about what you've done. You risked - They could..." Snape exhaled unsteadily and ran a hand back over his hair. "The risks you take scare me to death," he muttered, sounding more at a loss than she could ever remember hearing.

Hermione blinked. It had never occurred to her that he might worry about her, particularly given that she was safely tucked inside Hogwarts while he had to face Voldemort.

"Oh," she said blankly. "I didn't mean to worry you. But there's no need. Truly," she assured him earnestly. "The grounds are so strongly warded that even this many Dementors won't get in this time. It was just my over-active imagination playing tricks. Besides, I've been so miserable since I was such a bitch to you that I've' probably depressed the Dementors. I was terrified I might miss you," she added, achingly conscious of the warmth of his body so temptingly close to hers. But he couldn't afford the distraction - any distraction. "I wanted you to be certain about my feelings for you. You shouldn't have anything on your mind when you go to Voldemort except doing your job and coming home safely."

Snape opened his mouth to attempt to respond but the words wouldn't come, emotions welling to the surface beyond his ability to trust his control. "I - um - " He made an unconsciously helpless gesture.

"I know," she said, her palm on his chest, as if to reassure herself he really was here. "I wanted to kill Malfoy and instead I took it out on you. You shouldn't let me do that," Hermione added severely.

For the life of him Snape couldn't subdue his grin. "No. Though I'd welcome a few suggestions about how to stop you." Impatient, because he could see little beyond the pale blur of her face, he performed a privacy charm to ensure they wouldn't be seen or heard, before a murmured Lumos produced a soft, golden glow from the tip of his wand, bathing their faces in light.

Because he was on his way to Voldemort, Snape had already removed the Appearance Detracting Charm; without its blurring distraction the toll the last twenty six consecutive nights at Voldemort's side had taken on him were all too apparent. His gaunt face was all lines and shadows and his eyes seemed old beyond his years.

"You look terrible," Hermione whispered, Without conscious thought she reached up and tried to flatten an errant spike of black hair that was sticking straight up in the air. It sprang back up the moment she released it, but at least his hair was growing and he looked less like a prisoner of war. It had already occurred to her that Voldemort couldn't have assaulted him again because Severus hadn't suffered another allergic reaction; not that it stopped her worrying.

Far from taking offence, his mouth twitched. "Not what I was hoping to hear," he said blandly, watching her lick her fingers before rubbing them over his hair. He thought the better of asking what she was doing.

"Don't joke," said Hermione, her eyes searching his face. "Not about that. You must get some more sleep. You need all your wits about you for the interrogations. I am sorry for the mess I made of things earlier. You warned me how hard it would be. And you haven't even said 'I told you so.'"

"I've been waiting to get a word in edgeways."

Hermione looked resigned. "I know you were joking - I hope you were joking - but there's an element of truth to what you said all the same. I always talk too much when I'm nervous, and until you got here I was. Nervous, I mean. You know I didn't mean what I said to you earlier?" she added with a trace of anxiety.

"These are impossible times for everyone," said Snape, yet to reach the stage where he was prepared to reveal just how emotionally needy he was. It wasn't her he had doubted, only himself.

"My goodness. That's untypically forgiving of you. I must have the wrong wizard."

"You could just be wearing me down," he pointed out, the tension in his shoulders easing as he continued to relax in her astringent company.

"Not you," said Hermione with confidence, before her tone became serious. "I know I've hardly proved myself in recent days, but you can trust me."

He gave her a quizzical look. "To do what? I know," he added a beat later. "And I do. Have for some time, in fact." He sounded mildly pained, as if he couldn't quite account for this aberrant behaviour on his part. No one had ever looked at him in quite this way before, or put his welfare above even their own. It had so disconcerted him that it had taken him a moment before he could think what to say - not what he really wanted to, but then what he really wanted wasn't a lengthy chat in a wood, surrounded by Dementors. He tried to ignore the intensifying throb of pain from his arm.

Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, Hermione worried whether she had it in her to interest such a complex man, beyond the obvious physical chemistry that existed between them. But listening to him now, seeing the odd, lost look on his face before he thought to conceal it, it occurred to her that his needs were the same as hers - he just wasn't used to admitting the fact, even to himself. She'd been lucky enough to be raised in a secure and loving environment, and so had been slow to learn the penalties of trusting too readily. Where Severus was concerned she suspected that the reverse was true. To be given his trust was a gift beyond price, although even to hint as much would result in him verbally cutting her off at the knees.

"How very Gryffindor of you," she said.

His mouth quirked appreciatively. "It must be your pernicious influence."

"I'd like to think so."

"Speaking of influence. That hex March taught you - "

"Oh, I didn't learn it from him," Hermione said blithely. "Madam Hooch said every woman should have a few defences up her sleeve."

"I should have spotted Freyja's touch. And she's right. When there's time, I'll teach you others," Snape added, trying to concentrate. Hermione was wearing that pretty voile dress which gave such a splendid view of the freckled tops of her breasts. His senses swimming with her, he gave an audible swallow, surprised - and relieved - to discover he still had the energy to respond to her.

"I must go," he croaked.

"I know." Reluctant to see him go to Voldemort, her fingers curled in the limp fabric of his lawn shirt.

The insistent pain was demanding more of his attention with each second that he delayed - the Dark Lord had never been known for his patience - and yet he couldn't tear himself away.

Hermione winced when she saw him flinch, and realised what he had been trying to hide from her. "Don't waste your energy worrying about me. I won't let Malfoy get to me again. Although only because you can't afford the distraction," she added, with a realism which made him smile, before his expression became more intent.

"Your clash with Malfoy could prove useful, in a minor way. If anyone asks where you learnt that hex, hint that it isn't just the Boy Who Lives who has skills beyond his years. Malfoy has a well-developed sense of self-preservation - and there isn't a wizard alive who'll risk a threat to his genitals. It will have the added benefit that the news will get back to his father. Don't overplay this. Subtlety is everything. Do I make myself clear?"

Far from looking cowed, Hermione just looked amused. "We're going to have to work on this dictatorial side of yours. There again, mum's side of the family have always produced managing women. Don't snort like that, I made you a gift of it. I'll be subtlety itself," she promised, his smile making her overly aware of her own body - and his power over it, and her. She wasn't sure she liked the lack of control which arose when her body decided to make decisions for her.

"That has an optimistic ring to it. I have to go," he added flatly, and the change in him made her want to kill Voldemort. She had never let herself dwell on how much Severus must dread this moment every day, but it was there, starkly engraved on the lines and angles of his face.

"Yes," she said, with not a hint of that protective rage in her voice. "Keep safe. I've found some wonderful quotations I want to use on you - all by Lakmer the Tuneful," she added.

There were so many things he wanted to say, instead he just cupped the side of her face, his thumb caressing the tender skin behind her ear. "Lakmer the Tuneful," he scoffed.

Hermione turned her head so that she could nuzzle his inner wrist, but she had the sense to keep her voice brisk and unsentimental. "So I lied. Here's a thought for you to ponder for our future. 'He that will enter into paradise must have a good key.'"

Snape was surprised into a huff of amusement.

"Not that I have any worries on that score," added Hermione. If she could do nothing else for him, she could offer support and play the court jester - a reminder that there was a life beyond the horror of his current existence.

"Modesty forbids that I... This is a most improper conversation. Go back to the castle. Now," Snape added with a trace of exasperation. "I'm not leaving until I know you're safe inside and I'd rather not have to escort you back."

Hermione gave a peculiar grimace, captured his face between her hands and kissed him once, hard on the mouth, before running all the way back to Hogwarts. She found the discipline not to look behind her before she went inside the castle and closed the door.

"Ah, Miss Granger. There are things we need to discuss," said Dumbledore from behind her, making her jump. "Follow me."


	23. Chapter 23

TWENTY THREE

 

Turning from the huge main doors, which had locked and bolted themselves with a series of ominous sounding 'clunks', it took no more than a glance at Dumbledore's unsmiling face for Hermione to be reduced to the status of a guilty first year.

"I thought we had reached an understanding. I was obviously too optimistic," Dumbledore said, a faint but unmistakable bite to his quiet voice. "I need to talk to you, but in a less public place. We'll adjourn to the meeting room, where I can be certain we won't be disturbed." He crossed the vastness of the entrance hall, leaving Hermione trailing in his wake as they headed up the main staircase.

"Evening, sir," called a cheerful voice from the landing above them. "May I?" Oblivious to subtleties in the atmosphere, Colin Creevey gestured with his camera.

"Not now," said Dumbledore, as he drew level with the boy. "Shouldn't you be in your Common Room?"

"I'm on my way there now, sir. Professor Sprout asked me to take some photographs of the Nerys Lilies so she could locate the Chameleon Beetles that have been eating them. The beetles may be able to deceive our eyes but the camera wasn't fooled," said Colin proudly. "It saw straight through their camouflage. Professor Sprout was ever so pleased and..."

Hermione's head rose. This probably wasn't what Muggles had in mind when they said 'the camera never lies'. She had never given the properties of a magical camera a thought, although it explained the less-than-flattering photographs that appeared of a lot of people - except Gilderoy Lockhart, of course.

"I suppose that camera can see through any disguise?" she asked, supremely casual.

Dumbledore's expression sharpened.

Creevey nodded eagerly. "You bet. The girls won't let me photograph them any more because with this new Veritas lens the camera sees through most of their make-up. I bet it could even see through an Invisibility Cloak - only I can't test that theory as I don't know anyone who has one," he added sadly.

"I've heard they're very rare," sympathised Hermione, her hands sweating. The only wonder was that Colin had never in the past taken photographs of Filch or Severus. Worse than that, both Black and Snape risked discovery - and in Black's case it could result in his facing the Dementors' Kiss.

"Indeed they are," said Dumbledore. "Colin," he added, in the smooth tones of a man about to sell something that didn't belong to him. "About your camera..."

It took him only a couple of minutes to take Creevey into his 'confidence', with a story so preposterous but told with such conviction that Hermione almost believed it herself. Colin, of course, was thrilled to be 'working' undercover for the headmaster; sworn to secrecy, he went off virtually glowing with pride. Taken aback by the fluency with which Dumbledore had spun his tale, Hermione was making some mental readjustments.

"Well," said Dumbledore, as he tucked the camera in a pocket of his purple and orange robe.

"I've never noticed anyone else with a camera," said Hermione, "but we should check. Without drawing attention to it. And Quinapalus should be warned of the possible danger."

"I'll do so tomorrow," said Dumbledore.

He summoned a staircase Hermione had never seen before, which brought them to the end of the corridor housing the quarters she had used during the summer holidays. The door had barely closed behind them when Dumbledore began his attack, made all the worse because his voice retained its usual moderate, kindly tone.

"I was under the impression that you understood there can be no 'relationship' with Professor Snape. I imagine the meeting this evening was your doing?"

Hermione nodded.

"I thought as much. Having given his word, Severus will keep it - he guards his honour ferociously. You must know that he is physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted," Dumbledore added, changing tack. "These weeks at Voldemort's side, conducting interrogations, have taken their toll of him in every conceivable way - he's more emotionally vulnerable than I have ever known him. Small wonder if he should fancy himself 'in love'. But surely you can understand that when this crisis is over and he no longer needs any diversion... My dear, what of you when his 'feelings' for you fade away?"

His direct gaze left Hermione with no hiding place. Her back to the door she had just closed, her clenched hands concealed by the folds of her robes, she counted silently to fourteen; even then, when she spoke, her voice sounded tight and unfamiliar.

"Some relationships fade away, others grow stronger. No one can know which it will be. It's a leap of faith - or desperation. Wizards in love can't be much different from Muggles - except Wizards don't have as many of the Muggle hang-ups about sex and its various permutations."

"So you don't object to being Severus' emotional crutch?" persisted Dumbledore, in the same kind, quiet voice that felt as if it was flaying her nerves bare.

"My only objection is to having my emotions picked over by a third party," she said, in a voice that was almost steady.

"It's something you'll have to get used to if you intend to continue with this foolishness. Severus is thirty eight years old. He is not an easy man to know - he gives sparingly of himself, when he gives at all. Apart from a break of four years or so he has lived at Hogwarts since he was eleven. To all intents and purposes he has lived in a closed community. As far as I am aware until this summer he has enjoyed no intimate relationships of his own seeking during that time - either physical or emotional. Hardly a way of life that encourages emotional maturity or stability."

"Couldn't one could say the same of you?" Hermione queried, so angry that she was shaking.

"You're impertinent!"

"No. I would be impertinent if I questioned you about your relationship with your late wife."

"You go too far, Miss Granger!" Dumbledore warned, an edge to his voice now.

Hermione didn't even flinch. "I haven't even started. The respect in which I hold you does not entitle you to question me in this way. I am a legal adult in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds."

"Of which you've experienced so much."

She had never heard Dumbledore employ sarcasm before, and had not expected it now. Not from him.

"I apologise," he sighed, before she could speak. "You caught me on the raw because you're right. You are an adult. But you're also a young woman, without a family, in my charge."

Disarmed, Hermione relaxed to a degree. "Once they realised what I was - and had come to terms with it as best they could - my parents wanted to ensure that I made informed choices when I came to decide where I would live and work. So they saw to it that I experienced as much of the diversity of the Muggle world as possible. I've also spent most of my Muggle life with adults rather than my peers. Because of that I probably have a better idea than most people my age just how much work goes into making and maintaining a viable relationship. Much as I loved my parents, I was already drifting away from them in so many ways. I'm a witch and this is the world in which I feel truly at home. And in it I am an adult, answerable to no one but my own conscience with regard to who I love."

"I won't deny that you have consistently displayed more maturity than the majority of your peers but..."

Hermione heaved a sigh of impatience. "I'm not going to attempt to convince you of my maturity, it would be absurd to lecture a wizard of your age and stature. But ask any of us who've lost their parents to Voldemort. My 'childhood' ended the day I learnt they had been murdered. As for the topic of Severus' feelings for me - whatever they might be - I'm not prepared to discuss him with anyone. I appreciate the reason for your anxiety about members of staff behaving in an inappropriate manner with their pupils, really I do. Which is why the obvious solution is for me to stop being a pupil. So I resign, or whatever it is I have to do. With effect from today." The wave of adrenaline which had carried her this far vanished as her brain caught up with her tongue; she had just thrown away everything she had worked so hard for. Odd how life had a way of sorting out your priorities, she thought dazedly. She began to feel sick.

Dumbledore eyed her quizzically from over the top of his spectacles, which had slipped down his long nose. "Well," he said. "I confess, I didn't foresee this development."

Hermione sank onto the first available chair. "Me neither," she admitted. "But it's the obvious solution. While I don't want to put you - or Hogwarts - in a difficult position, I want to be free to put Severus first. Someone needs to."

"Ah. You think him hard done by?"

Remembering Granny Hoskins' advice about controlling her temper Hermione counted slowly to ten, got to seventeen and decided to speak anyway. "Over the years I've discovered that people often ask questions to which they already know the answers."

Dumbledore winced. "You really don't like me very much, do you," he said, taking care that the observation should not sound like an accusation.

"You hardly need my approval."

"Yet again I prove your point with my question," he noted, in the same mild tone.

Hermione parted her hands in defeat; talking to Dumbledore was like trying to sculpt fog. "Whatever I might feel about you at any given time, the truth is that I 'like' Severus more. He needs someone on his side, you have to be on everyone's and because of that..."

"He feels betrayed?"

"I wouldn't presume to speak for him. You must know that he would never discuss you in that way with anyone. But it's obvious he holds you in great affection - which makes you one of the select few with the power to hurt him. Whatever there is or isn't between Severus and myself, the last thing he needs is any distraction from the job he has to do. Equally, he needs someone he can be himself with, warts and all. Preferably someone who hasn't known him since he was eleven," Hermione added dryly.

"As he as known you," Dumbledore reminded her.

"I hadn't forgotten. But he isn't just Snape-the-bastard from the classroom and I don't have a crush on 'teacher'."

"It's a large part of who he is."

"Perhaps I see a different set of defences from you," said Hermione, shrugging. "I had assumed that because he's a Potions Master potions would be his only interest but this summer, listening to him talking with Professor Flitwick, I began to understand just how much the disciplines interlock and overlap and the breadth of his interests. His mind is...extraordinary - and totally wasted on the junior forms," she added, looking so severe that Dumbledore almost apologised for his staffing arrangements.

"Excellence is never wasted. We all thrive best when challenged," he said.

"Oh, he's certainly a challenge," said Hermione, turning Dumbledore's meaning around. "But whatever might happen, life with him could never be boring."

Despite himself, Dumbledore smiled. "No," he conceded.

In the surprisingly comfortable silence which followed, light dawned for Hermione as she realised what was troubling Dumbledore the most.

"Look, if you're concerned that we'll be..." With the best will in the world she couldn't bring herself to talk about sex with Albus Dumbledore. "If you're worried because you think I'm going to throw myself at him, crying 'Take me, I'm yours!', please stop. There wouldn't be any point. He can barely stay awake, never mind..." She trailed off into silence but managed to keep looking him in the eye.

"No," said Dumbledore, looking faintly amused. "I don't suppose he could. Though it never does to give Severus a challenge. Um," he rubbed his ear. "I'm not so old that I've forgotten the temptations of... Well, I doubt if either of us want to discuss those. But you should know, this is the only time Severus has ever given me his word of honour about anything. It isn't something he takes at all lightly."

It took Hermione a moment to process what she was actually being told. "Then he takes me that seriously," she said, tension seeping away with the doubts Dumbledore had raised.

Dumbledore sighed irritably. "That would be the ego-centric way of looking at it, yes. Of course he does," he added, against his better judgment. "Truth be told, my main concern is for him, not you."

Hermione beamed at him. "Then we're in agreement."

His head slightly cocked, Dumbledore was eyeing her thoughtfully. "I don't believe I ever really knew you at all, Miss Granger."

"Why should you," she said, without rancour. "You established I could be trusted and that I was bright enough to be of use to Harry in his fight against Voldemort. The fact I was something of a social misfit, bossy, an over-achiever and inclined to gabble when nervous wasn't so important."

"If only everyone was as clear-headed as you," he murmured dryly.

Hermione decided to annoy him and take it as a compliment. "Thank you, Headmaster. Thinking is what I do best."

He threw up his hands. "I'm going to cry defeat now, so we can both relax. If you're serious about leaving school, what about your N.E.W.T.s?"

Hermione shrugged. "I could pass them tomorrow - if not with the sort of grade I could expect next summer. But if I've learnt nothing else I've discovered that there are more important things than exam results. Leaving Hogwarts won't stop me from studying."

"I doubt if anything could do that," he said, with obvious affection. "You will, of course, stay at Hogwarts, whatever happens. I have no intention of suffering Messrs Potter and Weasley rampaging through my office - and I don't even want to contemplate the reactions of Minerva and Severus if I were to cast you out into the cold world. Not least because, as a close friend of Harry's, you are a prime target for Voldemort's malice. Finding you work won't be a problem. The staff members within the Inner Circle are already working at full-stretch. You can be of assistance to them in many ways."

Before she could attempt to respond a house elf popped into view and swallowed whatever it had been about to say when it noticed her.

"You may speak freely in front of Miss Granger," said Dumbledore.

"The Minister of Magic is wanting an urgent Floo conference 'at once!'" it quoted, wringing its hands in an apologetic fashion.

"I'll be there in a few seconds. Miss Granger, we need to talk further. May I return here after I've spoken to Cornelius Fudge?"

Hermione blinked.

"These are your quarters, my dear. For as long as you stay at Hogwarts. In fact Lippy can organise the transfer of your belongings from the dormitory. Lippy, will you also see to it that Miss Granger eats enough to make up for the meal she missed this evening?" Dumbledore tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames, said 'My office!" and was gone.

Hermione stared down at the determined face of the house elf and surrendered without a fight, eating everything that was set in front of her.

 

Hermione was sending off an owl when Dumbledore returned, a couple of hours later.

"I hope you don't mind me using a school owl but I needed to contact Mr Frayne immediately. Piecing together information on the puzzle board... Could you call a meeting of the Inner Circle?" she said, turning back from fastening the window.

"Of course, but what has upset you so?"

"Given that about twenty five per cent of pupils come from Muggle backgrounds, it's astonishing that the wizarding world has remained so ignorant of Muggle life - and that includes Mr Weasley, who's in charge of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. It's as if wizards have some inbuilt block which prevents them from grasping the simplest facts about Muggle life. That plan of Voldemort's to inherit the estates of the Muggles he murders, for instance. He must have forgotten everything he ever knew about Muggles if he thinks that crackpot plan will make him rich. Muggle probate - "

Hermione stopped and grimaced. "Oh, you wouldn't understand any more than Severus or Voldemort. Muggle inheritance law is nothing like wizard law. I wouldn't know anything about it myself except that Mr Frayne explained the differences to me before he began work on my parents' estate. Muggles can leave their money to any individual or organisation they want - although there are contingencies for when they die intestate. That's not important," she amended, realising she was digressing. "When Voldemort discovers his scheme has failed, the fallout could kill Severus. We need a contingency plan - preferably one in which Malfoy - or Pettigrew - gets the blame. Headmaster?" she added, after seconds went by without a response from him.

"What was that? Oh, yes. With you as our Muggle expert we should get on much better," said Dumbledore absently. "I'll ensure you have a couple of fast, strong owls at your disposal."

"A Muggle machine called a computer would be more useful. And access to the Internet by someone who knows their way around it. I know electricity doesn't work at Hogwarts but I imagine that's because you won't let it."

"Not me, Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. He looked pale and drawn and Hermione had the increasing sense that little of his attention was given to their conversation. "The Inner Circle has a contingency fund upon which it can draw. Peter Frayne understands more about our current situation than most Muggles and has pledged himself to help our cause in any way he can. Ask him to get this compacter and eklectricity. There's no point my pretending I understand much about the Muggle way of doing things. As for the puzzle board, I confess, I haven't spared it any time."

"Which presumably is why no one thought it was worth telling me that Percy Weasley is a Death Eater." There was a brittle edge to Hermione's voice; the discovery had shaken her to her core. If Percy could be so stupid... What guarantee was there that Ron won't decide to prove himself by single-handedly taking on Voldemort?

"That information shouldn't be there," said Dumbledore, after a worrying time lapse. "Severus was of the view that the information should not be shared amongst the other members of the Inner Circle - or the rest of the Weasleys and I concurred."

"That's absurd! What if one of the Weasleys tells Percy something vital to our cause? Just because Severus saw sense and came to you there's no guarantee Percy will, whether he's secretly working for us, or against us. And another thing, the information about Harry having the blood of all four Founders of Hogwarts in his veins... Won't Voldemort have it too, given that he took some of Harry's blood? And these are only the things I had a chance to read while you were gone. There's bound to be more missing information that people have forgotten to pass on because they take it for granted. You must call another meeting and order everyone to make time to read every scrap of information on the puzzle board.

"I know everyone is tired," Hermione added passionately. "I know everyone is busy. But if we don't find time to pool our information properly it could cost lives. Or the war itself."

"Very well," said Dumbledore absently. "Don't make any announcements about leaving school yet, if you please. Now what?" he added, on finding Hermione crouched in front of him.

"What did you mean when you said Hogwarts wouldn't allow electricity to be used? Headmaster?" she added sharply, when she realised his gaze was unfocussed. "Are you feeling all right?" It was clear that he wasn't.

Very pale and sweating, Dumbledore blinked and slowly raised his head. His skin looked as fragile as crumpled tissue paper. "I'm sorry, my dear. The demands on my attention are always greatest in the autumn term. This year it seems to be taking Hogwarts - and me - longer than normal to adjust." He took a Muggle sherbert lemon from the bag in his pocket and crunched it vigorously.

"Don't move, I'll get Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione.

Much as she loathed the Floo, she was grateful for it now, the mediwitch was at Dumbledore's side in under a minute. His head against the high back of the chair he was occupying, a little colour had returned to his face but his thin-fleshed hands were visibly unsteady.

"Don't look so worried, my dears. I neglected to eat lunch - or dinner," he added, after a moment's reflection. "But the sugar in these Muggle sweets works faster than anything our wizard confectionery can offer."

"Oh, Albus, really" said Madam Pomfrey with irritation. "How many times do I have to remind you - you're not a hundred any more. You must take better care of yourself."

"Don't fuss, Poppy. It wasn't my idea to call you." He gave Hermione a look of reproach.

"That much I believe. Thank goodness Hermione has more sense. Eat this medichocolate. Only you would be arrogant enough to think you can do so many jobs at once - between being headmaster, dealing with Fudge, Lucius Malfoy, the Dementors and acting as Warden, it's a wonder you aren't speaking in tongues."

"Give me time," he said wryly. "I came close to it while trying to maintain the link when I was removed as headmaster."

"Warden? What do you mean by Warden?" asked Hermione. "Is it important?"

"Important?" echoed Madam Pomfrey, before she thanked the house elf who had brought Dumbledore's meal. "Without a Warden there would be no Hogwarts. The four Founders created Hogwarts by magic, and it's magic that holds it together, and magic that defends it."

"But the wards you all expend so much energy maintaining..."

"Are necessary because I'm only acting Warden - and not as young as I was," said Dumbledore, in between mouthfuls of a light meal of Lemon Sole, creamed spinach and tiny new potatoes.

"Can't anyone else take over the burden? Or at least help you?" asked Hermione.

"Unfortunately it doesn't work in that way," said Dumbledore, looking pensive. "The Ministry of Magic and Board of Governors assume that between them they select and appoint the Head of Hogwarts. That's nonsense, of course. In the absence of a true Warden, Hogwarts selects the most compatible candidate. There is only ever one candidate, which rather tarnishes the glow of being appointed."

"Nonsense," said Madam Pomfrey trenchantly. "You were thrilled to pieces. I remember Ceres telling me you were incoherent. We assumed that was from joy at being Warden."

"No, I was babbling like a man who had discovered that I was destined to share my consciousness with a castle, while letting the rest of the world assume I was the true Warden. There hasn't been a Warden for well over three hundred years. Reading between the lines of 'Hogwarts, A History' makes it clear just how many heads have gone completely mad. I'm afraid poor Dippet had a hard time of it and I fear I wasn't as understanding as I might have been. Until you experience..." Dumbledore gestured vaguely at his head. "It's as if Hogwarts is trying to meld...incorporate... I don't think there is a word to describe the forced union. Suffice to say that it's the most disorienting experience suddenly to find yourself with corbels and buttresses, or to try and comprehend the link with something which -

"I've never been able to decide what Hogwarts is exactly, but it undoubtedly is something. Some entity. Whether the Founders understood the full extent of what they had created, I tend to doubt. They weren't ones to hide their lights under bushels. I suspect Hogwarts has been...evolving over the centuries. From what little information I do have, I gather that for a true Warden the joining is as natural and as effortless as breathing. I confess, there have been occasions when I find the task...wearing."

"Such as the start of the school year," recognised Hermione, her inner Hufflepuff making her feel guilty for being such a bitch to him, even while her Slytherin side pointed out she had been perfectly justified.

"Just so. Even without a true Warden, Hogwarts still protects those who inhabit it but unfortunately subtleties are lost. Without a true Warden Hogwarts can't distinguish between the various sentient creatures. So I'm afraid an animagus, Voldemort when he hid within poor Quirrell's turban, a mountain troll, a first year, or a Basilisk are all one and the same to Hogwarts at the moment. What's that noise?" Dumbledore broke off to ask, as he poured some cream over his treacle tart.

"The sound of Hermione grinding her teeth," said Madam Pomfrey dryly. "Feel free to speak your mind, my dear. It's the only way with Albus. Not that he ever takes any notice, of course."

"It's just... You'd drive a saint to drink, you impossible bloody man," exclaimed Hermione, her voice rising. "What's the point of the Inner Circle if you don't tell us any of the most vital information?"

"Kindly remember to whom you're speaking," said Madam Pomfrey, as she poured Hermione some tea. "That would be 'You impossible bloody man, headmaster.'"

"Poppy," sighed Dumbledore, looking pained.

"Don't 'Poppy' me," she said, her voice cracking along with her calm facade. "You complain that Severus doesn't tell you everything but you're even worse than he is! And if you imagine it gives any of us any satisfaction to watch you put yourself through hell when we might be able to help - "

"Merciful heavens. I seem to have upset you both. I forgot to eat today, that's all," said Dumbledore, glancing between Hermione and Madam Pomfrey. "I'm afraid I have been spreading myself too thinly."

He looked so contrite that the mediwitch leant over and kissed his cheek. "Impossible," she said fondly.

"Yes," said Hermione. "At least Severus lets you shout at him for a bit longer." She was too preoccupied to notice the sharp look Madam Pomfrey gave her.

"I never really paid any attention to the four Founders," mused Hermione. "Except for that bit with the sword and the Parseltongue the year before last, when Neville helped Harry foil Voldemort's plot. I might start doing some reading in some of the less obvious places. In my spare time," she added earnestly.

"Please do," said Dumbledore. "If anyone can find the information, you can. Madam Pince is a fine woman but..." He trailed off into silence.

"Oh, Albus," said Poppy, exasperated. "Hermione isn't going to have vapours at the idea that members of staff were young once. "Irma Pince had an affair with Tom Riddle while they were in the Lower Sixth. She's a Slytherin, of course. And a pure blood."

"I'm sure Mr Riddle wouldn't have it any other way," said Hermione. "So he's bisexual?"

"He's a leech," said Madam Pomfrey in a hard voice. "Only in those days he was more subtle about it. Irma was head and shoulders above the rest of her year. He stole her research, undermined her confidence and... She was vivid and vital and the intelligence shone out of her. I loathed her, of course. But by the time he'd finished with her she was a dried-up husk. She's never recovered from whatever he did to her mind. She wasn't the only one. He's a parasite who sucked the marrow from everyone he's ever drawn in. Dipat Patel, Niobe Finch... The list of those he used is a long one."

"Um." Hermione rubbed the back of her neck as she tried to think of a tactful way to frame the question. "Headmaster, I know you can perform some check on Severus - to make sure he isn't under Imperius. Can you do the same for Madam Pince?"

"Oh, there's no need for that. Surely?" Madam Pomfrey glanced at Dumbledore, who was sipping some strong coffee.

"Poor Irma. I fear that most of us are in danger of forgetting her very existence," said Dumbledore. "Rest assured, Miss Granger. I will check."

"Soon?"

"Tomorrow," confirmed Dumbledore meekly.

"Does Voldemort know? About the link between the Warden and Hogwarts, I mean?" Hermione thought to ask.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, looking better by the second now he had eaten. "It's just that he believes I'm the genuine article. It's that belief rather than our puny defences which have kept him from attacking Hogwarts itself. Even he won't risk the castle turning on him."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Severus."

"Oh." Hermione accepted that without question. "So how do we find the real Warden?" she added, with the air of one rolling up her sleeves ready for action.

"I wish I knew," said Dumbledore in heartfelt tones. "There's no helpful literature on the subject, and if Hogwarts knows it hasn't told me. Or perhaps it has and I've just been too stupid to understand."

"I don't know if you were aware of it, but the protective wards in the corridors can't be as strong as usual. I managed to hex Draco Malfoy."

"So I heard," said Dumbledore. "Please don't do so again. He has some difficult choices to face."

"You don't seriously imagine he won't follow in Daddy' s footsteps?" Hermione didn't try to hide her contempt for Malfoy.

Dumbledore cocked his head. "If only life was so cut and dried. Did Severus teach you that hex?"

"No. Madam Hooch."

Dumbledore's eyes lit up. "Ah. Yes. I should have identified her direct approach to a problem. In some respects you and she are much alike. With regard to the wards in the corridors... It isn't their power which has diminished, simply that you have come fully into yours. You're a powerful witch, my dear. Which brings its own responsibilities. This is the term that will see the majority of the Upper Sixth discover their true capabilities. Yet another reason both for caution - and celebration. I'll call the Inner Circle together tomorrow morning. It's a Saturday, so we should have time for what will no doubt prove to be a lengthy meeting."

"Then I'll be off to my bed," said Madam Pomfrey, having checked his readings one final time.

"Oh, before you go, Poppy, there are a few other things we should discuss. I know Miss Granger is of age, and your guardianship has officially lapsed, but I thought you might be interested to know that she has resigned as a pupil of Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, giving Hermione a bland glance.

It was only then that Hermione appreciated how greatly she had underestimated him.

Madam Pomfrey tucked her wand away. "Really?" she said, a steely look in her eyes.

Hermione gave Dumbledore a look of reproach and braced herself.

 

It was already late when Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey left, and even later by the time Hermione thought to go to bed. She spent most of the rest of the night mentally sifting through the implications behind the dependence of Hogwarts on a Warden. Her sense of the castle sleeping during the summer months hadn't been so fanciful after all. But if a Warden was so vital to the running and defence of Hogwarts, what would happen if the burden of acting as Warden became too much for Dumbledore? Last night he had looked alarmingly frail.

On the other hand, if he could carry that burden at his advanced age, what else might he be capable of if he didn't have Hogwarts weighing him down?

With that to consider, Hermione felt faintly ashamed of her pang of regret whenever she thought of her lost final year of school. While she would be sitting her N.E.W.T.s next week her grades would be no more than average and... There might be more important things to worry about but it was still hard to let go.

Harry and Ron would be told she was leaving to concentrate on her S Levels and work for the Inner Circle, the rest of the school would be told she had left because economic necessity forced her to earn her living. There was even a minuscule salary to lend credence to the tale. And hours of over-seeing detentions and first year marking ahead of her - if she was lucky.

Yawning as she drank the coffee a house elf had brought her, she stared sightlessly out the window. These rooms were her home now, the future a blank page, offering no certainties. For a girl who had once colour coordinated her notes, Hermione found the idea wonderfully liberating, even while it scared her to death. Fortunately there was too much to be done to have time for a panic attack.

***

 

The staff having - reluctantly - given up their Saturday morning lie-in, it was only just light when the first of them arrived for the meeting. As the room filled with sleepy, irritable looking people, the house elves set out a long table under the window with everything anyone could possibly want to eat for breakfast.

"Good morning, my dears," said Dumbledore, looking as rested as if he had enjoyed twelve hours sleep and an untroubled life. "Severus returned safely an hour ago. It was a difficult night. Voldemort's mood was such that he even put Pettigrew under Cruciatus."

"About bloody time," growled Black. "Where is Snape?"

"I asked Harry to tell him to get some sleep while he can. If Severus were at this meeting I should have to Obliviate him - the knowledge that I'm acting Warden only must never fall into Voldemort's hands - and I would rather spare him that. What?" Dumbledore broke off to ask, when he saw the dismay on several faces. Turning to follow the line of their gazes, he saw that Snape stood just inside the room, Harry behind him.

"Harry, you were supposed to tell Professor Snape to rest," said Dumbledore.

Hermione took one look at Harry's expression and understood only too well. Harry had never pretended to like Snape but these flashes of spite were totally out of character.

Harry shrugged. "Too late now."

"Indeed it is," said Flitwick, looking unwontedly stern. "Thanks to you, Severus now faces a Memory Charm."

"I don't see the problem," said Harry dismissively. "Given how quick Snape was to Obliviate Hagrid it can't be a big deal. It might do him some good to feel what it's like."

The room was so quiet when he stopped speaking that for a moment Hermione wondered if she had gone deaf.

"That will do! See me after this meeting," added Dumbledore, stern as he so rarely was.

Harry gave a cursory nod and headed for the table laden with food.

Pale from the emotional drain of a night which had gone from bad to worse, Snape had barely registered Harry's spite. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that everyone assumed he had known Albus was only acting as Warden. No wonder Albus rated their chances of defeating Voldemort so low, or that he had confessed to despair during the summer holidays. They were fucked. And so was he because it was obvious that while he was trusted, he wasn't trusted enough - and he never had been.

The years falling away, the realisation smarted more than he would have thought possible.

Stranded where he stood, it was a moment before Snape realised that everyone was watching him. He took refuge behind a familiar wall of defence.

"Ah, Gryffindor honour. You must be so proud of him, Minerva."

Her lips tightened but she made no attempt to reply. The look she gave Harry promised him a reckoning.

"Mr Potter, five points from Gryffindor for 'forgetfulness' and a weeks' detention with Professor Pinchbeck," added Snape. He was so tired the necessary bite was absent from his voice.

"Five?" said Harry, who had anticipated a heroic martyrdom for this goading of Snape.

"Behave like a first year and you can expect to be treated like one," said Snape. He evaded the arm Dumbledore had been about to tuck around him and took an armchair on the far edge of the circle.

Hermione noticed only the betraying caution of his movements. In addition to whatever Voldemort may have done to him, thanks to Harry he must suffer a Memory Charm. He'd called them an abomination and stopped Dumbledore from using one on her, while she could do nothing to protect him. Not even from his supposed allies.

Before she could go to him Dumbledore beat her to it.

"What?" said Snape edgily, hating the waves of sympathy being sent his way from the more sentimental members of staff. "Or is there something else you neglected to tell me?" He failed to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Dumbledore blinked as he appreciated the measure of Snape's misapprehension. "Oh really, Severus. I know you're tired but you can't honestly think I would have kept something so vital from you?"

The affection which bled through the reproof compelled Snape to look up. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded from fatigue. "Then why don't I remember anything about - ? Oh." His scowl deepened.

"It is, after all, the purpose of a Memory Charm," pointed out Dumbledore, patting him on the shoulder. "You were told the truth on the day you were appointed head of Slytherin. Once you rejoined Voldemort that information was removed from your memory - at your insistence."

"I'm relieved to hear my memory is superior to Potter's."

Dumbledore's smile faded. "Yes," he said heavily. "I had hoped to spare you this meeting - which is likely to be a lengthy one. However, as you are here, I would welcome your participation in the discussions before I have to Obliviate you."

"If you wish. Pettigrew is worried about something," Snape added abruptly. "More than normal, that is. His hair is falling out and he's developed a nervous tic. And I still haven't been able to identify what's causing the stink in the corridors of Voldemort's underground hideaway," he added, with evident frustration.

"You will," said Black abruptly, pausing on his way to the table laden with food. "A nose like yours doesn't miss much."

Snape eyed him without enthusiasm. "I thought it wouldn't be long until we reached the insults."

"That wasn't... I'm sorry," Black added, flicking a glance at Harry, who was eating for two while ignoring everyone around him.

"Then do something about him. No one else can," said Snape.

Black stared at him. "It isn't that simple."

"Acting like a responsible adult rarely is, but you have to begin some time."

"Yes, well. Shall we start?" said Dumbledore hastily.

"Shouldn't Bill be here?" asked Madam Hooch, spreading apricot jam on her croissant with a lavish hand.

"I sent him to Molly and Arthur," said Dumbledore. "Ron, I'm afraid the Burrow was totally destroyed last night. You know what that means?"

His freckles standing out more than usual, Ron straightened his shoulders. "No more gnome tossing? I know what it means," he added soberly. "But I've been a target for years. Can I see mum and dad after the meeting? Only she loved the Burrow and she shouldn't be upset right now."

"Don't you go worrying about Molly. She might have loved her home, but she loves her family a damn sight more," said Madam Pomfrey trenchantly. "She'll be fine, after a good cry."

"Your dad will have lost all his Muggle artifacts," said Hermione. "I wish I'd thought of him before I cleared mum and dad's house." She sat comfortingly close to Ron and gave him a friendly nudge with her shoulder; he would have been mortified if she'd tried to hug him.

"I think half the fun for him is finding them," said Ron. "Thanks," he added automatically, when someone handed him a cup of coffee.

It was Professor McGonagall.

He got to his feet in confusion. "Professor, you shouldn't be waiting on me."

"No, I should be fast asleep," she agreed. "Sit down and make the most of it, Mr Weasley. It won't happen often." But she patted a broad shoulder before she moved away.

The cup Ron held rattled on its saucer until he thought to steady it. "I know all information is to be shared, but Bill doesn't know about Percy yet. Can I be the one to tell him. In private?"

"Tell me what?" asked Bill, throwing his robe in the general direction of a peg before he came to sit beside Madam Hooch. "Mum and Dad send their love and said not to worry." For all his casual tone anger seethed beneath the surface.

"Yes," Dumbledore said to Ron. "I think that would be best. Do it now."

Worrying the skin at the side of her thumb, Hermione watched Ron take his brother out through the far door, which led via a hall to her bathroom and bedroom. She wondered when Ron had grown up without her noticing. Though she had got out of the habit of noticing him back in the fifth year, when he had fancied himself in love with her. There had been a tricky few months, which they had both done their best to forget. But things had never quite returned to the old easy friendship. Until this term. Now it was like finally having the brother she had always wanted; a brother she could rely on. It was just that she had always expected Harry to fill that role.

Harry, who looked at Severus as if he wanted to kill him...

Harry who was powerful enough to do just that.

 

Both the Weasley brothers looked pale when they returned to the meeting some time later; the sound of raised voices had been clearly audible above all the attempts at polite conversation.

Obviously spoiling for a fight, Bill marched over to where Snape sat in a wing-backed chair. "I have to ask - is there any possibility you were mistaken?"

"None," said Snape, his wand a fingertip away.

With a visible effort Bill refrained from saying anything else, but anger radiated from him when he took a seat next to Professor McGonagall. Ron just looked tired.

The identities of the Death Eaters was the first item to be discussed.

To Hermione's relief Harry made no comment about Percy being a Death Eater, although the unpleasant little smirk he gave made her feel sick. Fortunately Ron and Bill hadn't noticed. Just Mr Black - and Severus.

Concentrating on them, it was a moment before she heard Viktor's name and had to ask for it to be repeated. She tried to equate the intense, shy, Quidditch-mad boy with someone who would join Voldemort, when so much was known of him. Then it occurred to her. Outside of this circle, how many people appreciated just what Voldemort was?

But Viktor...

She realised she was mourning him, as if he were dead - or perhaps it was the fact she had obviously never known him at all. Cold, she moved closer to the fire, oblivious to the concerned looks she was receiving from various quarters.

Dumbledore went through every scrap of information, which was inwardly digested, then discussed by everyone present. The news of Hermione's resignation as a pupil came as a surprise to everyone.

Snape's head shot up, although he relaxed to a degree on hearing the ensuing explanation.

Ron and Harry both came over to sit with her, during one of the short breaks.

"If it's money," began Harry awkwardly, as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt.

"Will both of you stop looking so worried," Hermione said with exasperation. "I couldn't be happier. I'll be taking my N.E.W.T.s early - next week in fact. And no, Ron, you won't be having the same papers," she anticipated. "Then I can settle down to work with Professor Flitwick on my S Level - and do research for Albus."

"Albus?" said Ron and Harry, almost in unison.

"You heard all the staff invite me to use their first names," Hermione said, feeling no need to mention that she wanted to practise making it sound natural on Ron and Harry first.

"Yes, but...Dumbledore," said Ron.

"McGonagall," added Harry.

"I'm going to really miss you," said Ron, close to reverting to a whine. "Who's going to make us do our homework?"

It was a conversation Hermione could have had in her sleep - and wonderfully reassuring amidst so much change. "If I haven't got you trained after six years, there's no hope for you," she said briskly.

"But we won't see each other," said Harry, still not looking at her.

"We hardly see each now," Hermione pointed out. "What difference does that make to us being friends? Oh, it's starting again." She hurried off to where she had left her quill and parchment.

Ron watched Harry stare at the floor.

"I don't like change," Harry said at last, as if Ron had spoken.

"It doesn't have to be bad. Come on, mate. Back to the grindstone." Getting up, Ron left Harry sitting unnoticed outside the circle.

 

After lunch, the discussion turned to the Dementors.

"Professor Pinchbeck supplied Hermione with the information about Azkaban and the Dementors," said Dumbledore. "But we still know so little about them. Remus?"

"All my research has been able to confirm is that they're distantly related to Boggarts," said Lupin. "Dementors don't carry wands, and they don't use any kind of language, so I presume they're legally categorised as beasts but I couldn't find anything to confirm this. The enquiries I made with the appropriate department at the Ministry have been ignored."

"If the Dementors are beasts, would Hagrid be of help in destroying them?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"The man who loves Blast-Ended Skrewts?" returned Snape.

"I'll discuss it with him," said Dumbledore.

"Have all parents been officially informed that the Ministry has surrounded Hogwarts with Dementors?" asked Ron.

"Not to my knowledge," said Dumbledore.

"Then might it be worth you, as headmaster, writing to every parent. Say that while, obviously, they must have given their consent to the Ministry's action because Dementors upset the kids so much, you don't appear to have a signed copy of that consent for your records. With any luck outraged parents will flood the Ministry with complaints and demands for an explanation. Even if it doesn't get rid of the Dementors, it will make the Minister think twice. It would help if we could get the Press on our side. Bill can flirt with Rita Skeeter," Ron added casually.

"Thanks a lot," said Bill dryly.

Snape eyed Ron with mild approval. "Not bad," he adjudged. "Sometimes I can almost forget you're a Weasley."

While Harry heard only an insult, Ron was beginning to get Snape's measure. He grinned. "No need to go overboard with the praise."

When others proved more vocal in their approval, Ron realised he couldn't have been looking as becomingly modest as he had intended when Hermione kicked him hard on the ankle.

Dumbledore moved on to the topic of the murder of Filch and his wife.

"Why kill him?" asked Ron suddenly. "Why did Voldemort even know of him? He was a squib and a caretaker."

"I presumed it was because of Majolica," said Dumbledore. "Argus' wife was a powerful witch. While she was a fine animagus, if not the equal of Minerva or Sirius, she taught Muggle studies for some years."

Ron frowned. "Could she have known anything about Voldemort's Muggle years that might help us?"

"If she did, the secret died with her," said Professor McGonagall.

"Who turned her into a cat?" Hermione asked.

"That was her animagus form. We never knew how she came to be trapped in it. Over the years Argus became very bitter when, for all our supposed expertise, none of us could help her," said Dumbledore. "They had only been married eighteen months..."

"So Filch never said anything about the castle or grounds that might give us a lead?" asked Madam Hooch, her disconcerting eyes narrowed.

"None that we know of it would seem," said Dumbledore.

"You taught Transfiguration, didn't you?" said Hermione.

He nodded.

"Are all Transfiguration professors animagi?"

"It's useful to be able to demonstrate what you're talking about," said Professor McGonagall.

"But the headmaster isn't on the Register of Animagi," pursued Hermione.

"Not for this century, no," said Dumbledore. "Try 1867. Yes, I'm an animagus. Although since I have been acting as Warden I have been unable to transfigure."

"Don't you miss it?" blurted out Hermione.

There was a small silence.

"Very much," said Dumbledore finally.

Oblivious to undercurrents, subtle or otherwise, Harry showed his first sign of interest in the proceedings. "So what were you?"

"What else could he be with a name like that," said Professor McGonagall, smiling fondly at Dumbledore. "He was a bumblebee, of course. The most beautiful fat bumblebee."

"No wonder you like sweets," said Hermione. "We'll find you the real Warden," she added with determination.

And because she was looking at Dumbledore with such obvious affection, even Snape refrained from sarcasm.

"You look disappointed, Harry," noted Dumbledore.

"No. It's just...not very..."

"Grand? Heroic? No. But it was fun," said Dumbledore with a trace of wistfulness. "Especially in the springtime..."

***

 

Pain wrenching him awake, it took Snape a few seconds to place his surroundings. He was in Hermione's rooms, and she sat on a stool by the fire, carefully not watching him. He must have cried out then. Damn. But a quick check established he hadn't been drooling, which was something. He never surrendered to the vulnerability of sleep unless he was alone, and securely warded. Worse, he must have fallen asleep during the meeting itself because the last thing he remembered was Ceres explaining the binding hex on which she was working.

He tucked his wand back into his sleeve and pressed the heel of his hand to the muscles cramping in his left thigh - as if that ever helped. In the distance he could hear the high whistling snores which betrayed March was close at hand. He wondered whose idea the chaperon had been - his money was on Poppy or Minerva.

By the time the pain ebbed enough to permit more complex thought he was sweating, fatigue like leaden weights pressing on his bones. He shrugged out of his robe, jacket and high-buttoned waistcoat, unfastening the cravat at his throat. The silk of his white shirt clung clammily to his shoulders and back. Behind him he could hear Hermione talking to Lippy. He turned to find the house elf gone and Hermione bringing him a cup of tea.

"I can hear March but I can't see him," Snape said, reseating himself.

Hermione set the cup and saucer on an occasional table. "He's asleep on my bed. He stayed on after the meeting so he can Obliviate you before you go to Voldemort. He refused to do it while you were asleep."

"I'm glad to hear it. Whose idea was that, yours?"

She gave a shamefaced nod. "I thought it would be easier."

"For me?"

"For everyone," she said frankly. "But then I was trying not to think about it." She crouched in front of him, one hand resting just above his knee, as if she needed the reassurance of touch. "You look awful."

Already dreading the Memory Charm, because he could never quite shake off his fear that this time something would go wrong, Snape moved his leg in a surge of irritation, dislodging her hand. "I don't want a nursemaid and I certainly don't need you to wait on me."

Hermione rose to her feet and paused to stare down at him from her advantage of height. "You were under Cruciatus?"

"As you see."

"Obviously not for long enough to teach you any manners," Hermione said tartly.

Snape blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. You have a vicious tongue but I don't have to put up with it any more. Drink your tea before I give in to the temptation to pour it over you."

Snape was so taken aback that he didn't think of a suitable retort until she had stalked off. While the tea was warmer than he preferred, he drank it without comment as he watched her stalking around the room, tidying discarded parchments and books. From the snap of her boot heels on the portions of uncovered floorboards to the set of her shoulders she was clearly furious.

The flow and swirl of her calf-length skirt distracted him from the way the soft fabric clung to the contours of breast, belly and bottom before the material flared out. He had a suspicion that she might have discovered the same charm he used to control the movement of his academic robes. The warm amber tones flattered her skin and hair, as did the soft light of the room. For someone so pragmatic she had a romantic taste in clothes. And a depth and passion -

He couldn't ever remember seeing her in the trousers many of her peers wore under their robes. There again, until this summer how much notice had he paid to her physical presence? Her intellect had always commanded attention, even if he had misinterpreted what drove her.

What was he thinking? Nearly twenty years of impotence and bitterness were hardly good training for sustaining any kind of a relationship.

Still pointedly ignoring him, Hermione slammed down Leontine Dreary's groundbreaking Treatise of 1486 on the creation of Charms and sat at the table, with her back to him. She was sulking.

Snape set his cup down with a decided clink. Typical woman. He was the injured party and she was sulking.

He couldn't see her face from this angle, just her narrow shoulders and defined waist, both of which served to emphasise the fullness of breast and hip, just as her short hair revealed her pretty neck and small, plump earlobes.

He should leave. Now. He'd hardly seen anything of his Seniors in this, a vital year for all of them, with decisions to be made that could blight their lives. The one advantage to her having left school was that it would keep her a safe distance from Draco. Malfoy would be looking to revenge himself for the way she had humiliated him and while he wasn't particularly inventive, he was tenacious. That aside, Albus and Minerva should have stopped her. Although in all fairness it was difficult to imagine anyone talking Hermione out of anything she had set her mind on.

Rain thumped against the windows as gusts of wind swirled around the courtyard outside. The scent of wood smoke intensified. Even Albus Dumbledore hadn't found a way to stop the chimneys from smoking.

His growling stomach made him take out the pocket watch which had been a present from Albus some years ago - although quite why everyone should assume that just because he was a Slytherin he liked snakes was a mystery. Instead of the usual vivid green serpent who barely found the energy to tell him the time of day, there was a mass of slender multi-hued snakes. One final slither separated them into the message 'Fourteen minutes to kissing Hermione'. Only when he had turned on the seat of the chair to slip the watch back into the pocket of his discarded waistcoat did he realise what he had just read. He took out the watch again, opening the front casing so fast that he made the serpent jump. 'Ten hours to breakfast.'

Damn, it was later than he'd thought. He must have slept for hours.

His gaze returned to the stiff set of Hermione's shoulders. He really should leave, but he knew he wasn't going to, not until he was summoned. He twitched straight the soft cuffs of his shirt and went over to where she sat.

She continued to pretend to be reading.

"I may have been a little abrupt," he said stiffly. "I meant only that you shouldn't have to wait on me. We have house elves for that."

The quill she was gripping twitched. "That's all right. You bought me clothes, so I'm free."

"What?"

"Our shopping trip in London?" she prompted. "You paid for the underwear I'm wearing. And I still can't pay you back."

He was so distracted that he almost asked which set, before the bitterness in her voice penetrated. "That doesn't matter."

She rounded on him then. "It does to me."

He nodded. "Yes. I'm not expressing myself very well today. It isn't too late to change your mind. You may have resigned but..."

"That's not a problem."

"Of course it is."

As his tall figure loomed over her, Hermione glared up at him. She swallowed her first retort when she saw he was fidgeting slightly - a sure sign he wasn't as confident as he wanted to appear. Ron and Harry were rotten at apologising when they were in the wrong too. Maybe it was a male thing.

And Severus was very male.

They were in such close proximity that she was conscious of the warmth of his body, achingly conscious of the pull of his physical presence. He wore only a white shirt and close-fitting black trousers. Instead of the fine lawn material of summer, his white shirt was silk and it clung and fluttered as he breathed, offering disconcerting reminders of the body it housed. A couple of buttons had slipped free, exposing a small, tantalising patch of flesh just below his navel. She resisted the temptation to place her mouth to the spot.

"Did you resign because of me?" Snape demanded into the heady silence.

"Modesty isn't your strong point, is it?" she retorted, aching for him.

"I'm not that vain. And will you put that bloody quill down before you break it!"

He moved away a little and it became possible to think again. "Not everything is about you," said Hermione, just before the quill snapped under the pressure she had been exerting.

While Snape didn't say 'I told you so' his expression spoke for him. Hermione muttered a Cleansing Charm, although there was still a trace of indigo around one nail when she had finished.

"You still haven't answered me," said Snape, sinking onto one of the high-backed wooden chairs close to where she sat. "Did you resign because of me?"

The unexpected gentleness of his voice was her undoing. "Look," said Hermione, belligerent to hide the fact tears weren't far behind, "you don't have to panic. I don't expect anything from you. I'm not your responsibility."

Snape audibly exhaled and leant forward to take both her hands in a loose grasp. Gently turning her writing hand over, he kissed the palm before setting her hands on the table again.

"I see things a little differently," he said with a slow deliberation that betrayed his fatigue. "And I would do so whatever feelings there might be between us. No matter how it might appear to our pupils, responsibility comes with the job of teaching at Hogwarts." He gave the faintest of smiles. "The trick is not to let it show."

"So you'd be as concerned for Neville Longbottom, or Goyle?"

There was an abrupt silence.

"I was generalising," said Snape coldly. "My point is that you shouldn't throw away your last - best - year from some misguided sense of duty. Whether or not you're a pupil won't affect... We won't become lovers."

"Odd, I thought we already were. Except for the having sex part, of course." Hermione's voice was tart as a lemon. "You might have sounded a lot more convincing if you hadn't been staring at my breasts."

Snape looked pained.

"And it's nice to know you imagine you're going to be making all my decisions for me," continued Hermione.

Snape briefly closed his eyes. "I'm not handling this - "

"I don't require 'handling'. Well, not the sense you mean. As for when we become lovers, rest assured, I intend to have a say in that."

From her current expression he'd probably be waiting until sometime after the next Millennium.

"I'm too tired to chose my words as carefully as I should," he admitted, because he didn't seem to have another option. "You are, undoubtedly, your own woman. It's one of the reasons I... But I made Albus a promise," he amended hastily. "I gave him my word of honour."

"About what exactly?" asked Hermione.

"That we wouldn't become lovers until Harry has left school."

"I might have known it would be about Harry," she said, seconds before her eyes narrowed with concentrated ferocity. "The devious old bastard. And he lied."

"Albus does that more than you might expect," said Snape, not without sympathy. "What about this time?"

"He told me he hadn't foreseen me wanting to resign from school, but he must have known I would all along. Otherwise he would have made you word that ridiculous promise differently. Though why us having sex..." Hermione stopped.

"It would matter," said Snape. "More than... It would matter." Finding that he was leaning towards her, he straightened but couldn't bring himself to withdraw completely. "So, you're to take your N.E.W.T.s next week," he said briskly. "Sitting them seven months early is unlikely to present you with any problems." A frown drew his eyebrows together. "Who set the Potions exam?"

"As all the papers will be compiled from a mixture of questions asked in previous years, I imagine you did. Albus - "

"You're on first name terms?"

"He said to call him 'Albus'," said Hermione defensively.

"I'm sure he did. Just as I'm equally sure he expected it to take you a year or so before you managed to make it sound natural." While Snape's tone was dry, something about his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Their focus on each other, they didn't notice the house elf who was clearing away the books and parchments before setting the table. The beguiling scent of food gave them a new sensory focus, reducing the intensity which had been building between them.

"You're probably right," admitted Hermione, discovering how hungry she was only as she began to eat. "He is the most infuriating - "

Snape failed to subdue a grin. "You really are beginning to get his measure, aren't you. Will he be marking your Potions paper himself, or getting someone from the Ministry?"

"Can we not think about that?" begged Hermione. "I mean, the idea that the wizard who discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood might be reading my Potions essay..."

"You worry about me first," Snape advised her. "I'll make sure Albus does it. After I've had a word with him about you. He doesn't know you require to be judged by a higher standard."

Hermione's jaw sagged. "You mean you penalise me for being good?"

"Of course I do. Think about it. How many of your classes had stopped being a challenge by last year? I've no intention of allowing you - or a few others - to become complacent, or weighed down by the mediocrity of your classmates."

"But - but - " Pink-cheeked and spluttering, Hermione glared at him. "That's outrageous."

"I do my best," said Snape, finishing his meal with every appearance of enjoyment.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled. "You really are a bastard," she said fondly. "And I admit, I've never been bored in Potions. I couldn't go back to school though. While I expect to spend the rest of my life learning, I'll get on faster outside the classroom. I grew up last summer and it wasn't just because I began to see you differently. I didn't fit any more. The things that used to matter so much stopped seeming important. I'll have enough spare time to be of real use to the Inner Circle. And, I hope, you."

The smile faded from Snape's eyes, to be replaced by a vast wariness. "Hermione..."

"I know, I know. Back to business," she said without resentment.

The small lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled again. "It would be best," he said, his obvious reluctance sweetening the pill.

"Um. About Harry..."

"Do you really think it would be a good idea for us to try and discuss your best friend?" asked Snape quizzically.

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Which is something I don't hear nearly often enough." The relief he couldn't disguise betrayed him.

Not for the first time, it occurred to Hermione that some subjects were always going to be difficult for them to discuss. As she couldn't do anything about that now, she set herself the task of easing the lines of strain on his face.

"I suppose no one thought to tell you about Professor Pinchbeck's latest?"

"What's he done now?" asked Snape, looking resigned.

Hermione grinned. "Well, for one thing he's fast overtaking you as the most hated professor in the school. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs are convinced he's a Slytherin."

"And I'm supposed to be flattered because...?"

To Hermione's relief he looked no more than amused and mildly curious.

"The Ravenclaws are hedging their bets."

"And my Slytherins keep their thoughts to themselves. I've heard enough to know they assume he's one of us," added Snape with gloom.

Hermione failed to stifle a giggle before she sobered. "The main thing is that no one knows who he really is. While Harry's mortified, Quinapalus seems to relish being hated. Only he got so cross with some third year Gryffindors yesterday that he brought down part of the ceiling when he lost his temper with them."

"Gryffindors?" For fleeting seconds the exhausted man reverted to a mischievous boy.

"Yes, I thought that would be your favourite part," said Hermione dryly.

"How well you know me," said Snape, before he paused, disconcerted.

"Is anything wrong?" Hermione asked.

"What? No, nothing. Except that I'm obviously losing my mind."

"Ah, that would explain it. His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock it never is at home."

Snape's eyes widened. "You've been borrowing books from my library."

"Just a book of quotations. I enjoyed flicking through the poetry but..." Her nose wrinkled. "Those poetry books you saw were my mum's, not mine. I only kept them for sentimental reasons. I don't read much - well, any really - fiction. The library here has so much I want to study that... Anyway, I can rely on you to quote the best bits to me." Hermione paused, sidetracked by the thought of his voice thrumming against her inner thigh as he recited...whatever he wanted. That voice would make a laundry list sound appealing.

"Hermione? You haven't heard a word I've said, have you," recognised Snape with irritation. "What were you thinking about?"

Beset by heady images of herself spread out beneath him, she stared at him, her gaze straying to his mouth, imagining all the things it would do to her.

"Hermione..." There was an odd roughness to his voice.

Not touching him with anything but her eyes, Hermione smiled at him. Snape made a sound caught between a hiss of irritation and a groan of disbelief and surrendered with something approaching grace. They moved towards one another with the slow inexorability of two strong magnets.

His large hands framed her face with an aching tenderness before his head bent, his mouth brushing hers, lips barely moving. The wet warmth of her tongue parted his lips, and for a few seconds he ceded control, needing to be certain this was what she wanted.

Slow kisses deepened, gaining in urgency. Hermione slid her hands under his shirt, desperate for the immediacy of skin on skin. He lifted her onto the edge of the table as if she was weightless. Cutlery clattered to the floor as she wrapped her legs around his flanks, hooking him closer.

Careless of the clumsy bumping of nose against nose, they fed from one another like people starved. A couple of buttons bounced to the floor before rolling to a standstill.

It was the need for air that gentled them as their bodies rearranged themselves, seeking a way through what suddenly became interminable layers of clothing. Breathing as if she had been running, her lips tingling and her eyes black-pupilled with lust, Hermione blinked at Snape, wondering why it should have taken her until now to remember how potent a simple kiss could be. But then he had already taught her that.

She released his backside to attack the diagonal row of tiny buttons fastening his trousers, only to lose concentration when Severus' hand cupped her breast. He thumbed opened the buttons of her bodice with a disconcerting dexterity, the lace of her low-cut bra no bar to the heat of him on her naked flesh. Her nipple sprang into his palm, her sigh swallowed in his mouth. Her legs locked around his flanks as she pressed his hand to her breast. His other hand slipped under her wide skirt, his fingers circling their way up her inner thigh to tease her to greater heights.

Gasping for air, her pulse thumping in her ears, she sucked on his lower lip, then buried her face against him as he cupped her through the apricot silk of her panties. He circled the knuckle of his index finger so tantalisingly close that she whimpered into his skin from sheer frustration at the clothing which continued to separate them.

Snape froze.

Then he was withdrawing from her, mouth and hands abandoning her turgid flesh. She shivered from the chill. His breathing was harsh, his body taut against her as, with fingers that shook, he smoothed her lace and refastened her buttons. Hermione made an instinctive, incoherent sound of protest, but she too was freeing him, one hand easing from under the waistband of his trousers, her legs unhooking. But the heels of her hands settled on the indentation above his hips, her palms spanned the muscled hollow of his flanks, preventing him from severing all connection. Her pulse began to slow even while her lips still tingled with the memory of his mouth on hers.

"I'm sorry," said Snape. His voice sounded drugged, his face still tucked into her neck as he fought to get his body under control - a process which their continuing proximity was doing nothing to help. "This was my fault."

"I don't see why you should take all the credit. Severus..."

"We can't," he said tightly, only now finding the strength of mind to sever all physical contact with her.

He had yet to get his body fully under control and Hermione stared at him, the wanting raw on her face. His shirt gaping open, there was a small bite-bruise just below his naval.

Snape gripped a chair back for support. "Don't. I gave him my word of honour. It isn't... appropriate," he fumbled, the word he wanted eluding him.

"No," agreed Hermione. "March is only in the next room, asleep on my bed."

That practicality surprised a small huff of laughter from him, although there was a raw edge to it. "That wasn't what I meant. I'd forgotten about him." His hands were visibly unsteady.

"I'd be mortified if you hadn't," said Hermione. Her senses strung out, she couldn't rage at him because his face was unguarded, as it so rarely was.

He brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again, his mouth brushing hers with unmistakable tenderness.

"Don't leave," she said in a rush, when he stepped away from her. "I know it would make this easier to deal with but please don't go. I'm being selfish," she recognised a moment later, her voice flattened out, her body protesting at the breaking of sensory promises made to it.

He felt drunk on the scent of her, could smell her still on his skin, the ache of arousal slow to fade. His hand remembered the weight of her breast, the warmth of her thigh, just as his body remembered the too brief moment when she had cupped him.

"Tea," he said abruptly. "Order tea. I need five minutes..." He gestured in the direction of the bathroom.

"Oh," said Hermione, going faintly pink.

It took him a moment to appreciate why. A very male grin escaped him. "No," he said, "although the principle is the same. I need a shower. A cold shower," he added pointedly.

"I'll ask Lippy to bring you a change of clothing," said Hermione. "Though you needn't look so superior. I was just wishing I could... Never mind."

It was only when the water splattered into life a few minutes later that Hermione realised the bodice of her dress had been mis-fastened. And that if only she'd had the presence of mind to use a charm on them, she could have dealt with the buttons on Severus' clothing in seconds. Though how anyone was supposed to focus enough to concentrate -

Which might account for why there were no books in the Restricted Section on magical sexual techniques, she mused. The knowledge of how much damage could be done to those most delicate of body parts rather put a damper on wanting to experiment with your wand.

None of which was dispelling her longing to join him in the shower. Bloody wizard's honour... Which was unfair, because he wasn't enjoying this any more than she was.

Hermione gave a deep sigh and began to tidy the room, only to find Lippy glaring at her.

"This is house elves' work. You leave to us. Master Severus is on his way."

"Master?" queried Hermione, because it was a term she associated with old-fashioned nannies referring to their high-born charges.

"No time to talk now. Much work to be done," said Lippy, hitching the knot fastening the tea towel she wore higher on a bony shoulder.

Hermione sank onto a chair. "Would you do me a favour?"

"I is here to serve," squeaked Lippy, but she looked wary.

"Then bring us some tea," said Snape, coming fully into the room. "What was it you wanted to ask Lippy?" he added.

"It doesn't matter," said Hermione vaguely. He had changed from rumpled sensuality to a buttoned to the throat formality. It did nothing to reduce the itchy ache that made concentrating on anything but sex so difficult.

Snape crouched in front of the fire and set another log in place; dislodged ash sparked into life before drifting up the chimney. "There's a storm brewing."

Hermione drew armchairs to either side of the hearth and tucked her wand away. "Will you be called tonight?"

"Inevitably. And soon." Snape sat opposite her.

"Why did Voldemort put you under the Cruciatus?" Hermione asked, so abruptly that it surprised Snape into telling the truth.

"Because I fell asleep while he was talking to Pettigrew." He took his tea from Lippy, who had already served Hermione.

The first time Hermione opened her mouth no sound came out. The second time she had no trouble at all. "Are you insane? You can't go around falling asleep on Voldemort!"

"Well, I hardly did it intentionally," said Snape, faintly aggrieved. It wasn't that he wanted sympathy, but a faint display of concern wouldn't have gone amiss.

"It's a wonder he didn't kill you for the insult."

"I know. Fortunately he took my dedication to duty as another sign of my devotion to him," said Snape, all emotion pressed from his voice.

Hermione tensed. "He didn't - ?"

"No."

"You should be trying to catch up on some more sleep instead of talking to me."

"This is better," replied Snape simply.

Her heart in her eyes, Hermione stared at him, then gave a determined sniff. "That book of quotations might come in handy after all."

Whatever response he might have intended to make was lost in a gasp of pain as he doubled over, clutching his arm. His cup fell unregarded to the floor, tea splashing over his boots.

"Voldemort?" asked Hermione, just managing not to rush to his side because he would hate it so.

Snape nodded and turned away, wanting to spare her having to watch his subjugation.

Hermione found the robe he had been wearing when he arrived and retrieved the tiny bundle that was the reduced Death Eaters robes and mask.

After a minute or so Snape was able to concentrate enough to tuck them in an inside pocket. "I must go." He was halfway across the room when he stopped dead. "I forgot. I have to see March first." His face was very white when he turned back.

Hermione went cold. She had forgotten the need for a Memory Charm. "Would you rather be alone, or shall I come with you?"

"You shouldn't have to see - "

Hermione took that for a 'yes' and led the way into her bedroom, where Flitwick was curled fast asleep on the counterpane, his knees tucked up to his chest.

With a gentleness which few of his pupils would have credited, Snape woke him. He remained kneeling as Flitwick sat on the edge of the bed. Swallowing a yawn, Flitwick took out his wand, his bewhiskered face grave and kind as he looked down and touched Snape briefly on a still damp spike of hair.

"I know how much you loathe the use of Memory Charms, and I honour you for going through with this," he told Snape, his formality making it clear he didn't take the tampering with a mind lightly.

As a faint, unaccustomed flush stained Snape's pale face, Flitwick added, "Obliviate."

Her hands clenched, her mouth trembling, tears blurred Hermione's vision as she saw the bewildered look which crossed Severus' face.

"Thank you for waking me, Severus," said Flitwick, his wand out of sight. "Now you must go to Voldemort. I will keep night-watch with Hermione until you return. Pinchbeck and Sinistra will keep your Slytherins safe."

Already on his feet, Snape nodded and glanced at Hermione. In two strides he stood in front of her.

"Try not to worry," he said, touching her cheek.

She twitched a fold of his robe straight. "Your desire to my heart is an absolute commandment."

Pleasure lighting his tired face, Snape shook his head. "I don't know who you borrowed that from, but you're a shocking liar."

"I'll work on it," she promised.

"You stay as you are," he retorted, and kissing her forehead, he quickly left the room.

Hermione took a shuddering breath. It had been a long, emotion-packed day.

She sank on to the edge of the mattress next to Flitwick. "You didn't eradicate any of his other memories."

"Of course not. They will strengthen him." Sensing that tears weren't far off, Flitwick gave her a worried look before patting her on the shoulder in a hopeful kind of way.

"You're tired. You can't stay up all night," Hermione said, when she trusted her voice.

"Ceres will take over from me around four a.m. We had already decided that Severus needs more support than he has been receiving from us. And you should not have to wait for him by yourself. In our experience, the best antidote to anxiety is work, and there's much to be done. When you're ready, come into the other room. I've been preparing a reading list for you." Flitwick patted her hand, then left her alone.

Her hands clenched in her lap, Hermione wept silently, understanding to her very bones one thing she had read.

'I want to go with the one I love.

I do not want to calculate the cost.

I do not want to think about whether it's good.

I do not want to know whether he loves me.

I want to go with whom I love.'

After a few minutes she calmed enough to go into the bathroom where she blew her nose on some toilet paper, before rinsing her splotchy face. Only then did she take in the finer points of her surroundings. While Lippy had removed Severus' laundry, she had not had a chance to clean the bathroom, which looked as if a hurricane had hit it, rather than one lone wizard.

Hermione scooped up one of the three sodden bath sheets and held it to her face, as if hoping for some trace of him, but all she could smell was her orange-scented soap. Setting the towel neatly over the rail, she took a deep breath and went out to get on with some work.


	24. Chapter 24

TWENTY FOUR

 

Snape was halfway to the dungeons before he remembered what Dumbledore had just told him; the third years had been trying to hex each other silly so Quinapalus was sleeping down there tonight. While it was galling to admit, Quinapalus was doing an unexpectedly good job of looking after his Slytherins - not least because his volatile temper meant that not even the most foolhardy pupil was willing to cross him twice. But with Sirius using his chambers he needed somewhere to sleep. Lupin was still occupying Serpens Tower; there were spare bedrooms there, of course, but he had no intention of sleeping that close to a werewolf.

He massaged the aching bones of his face while cataloguing his options; it took a depressingly short time. House elves would soon make him up a bed but they would fuss and fidget and cosset him to death and all he wanted was some peace and quiet in the hope that he could stop thinking for a few hours.

It would be quiet in the meeting room, with no danger of a spotty third year discovering that even the most loathed member of staff was human. Though fostering the rumour that he was a vampire had provided a degree of entertainment for a few years. Such simple amusements seemed a long way away.

The wards guarding Hermione's chambers were keyed to admit all members of the Inner Council. Once inside the small internal hallway he removed his robe and the Appearance Detracting Charm; here nothing was required of him but that he be himself. He gave a sardonic snort. A prize by anyone's standards...

As he sank stiffly onto one of the large sofas in front of the fire he wondered vaguely what Hermione did to make these rooms feel so comfortable. Ten minutes later he was asleep.

 

Damp around the edges after her hurried shower, Hermione hitched at a slipping bra strap through her robe as she hurried out of her chambers. She had over-slept, so no time for breakfast before her practical Potions N.E.W.T.

She was halfway down the corridor before she registered that she had just seen Severus fast asleep in front of the fire. Not only home, safe, but seeking sanctuary with her - not that it would do to notice and risk making him feel self-conscious about the fact, she reminded herself.

Even the discovery that she would be doing her Practical in front of Albus Dumbledore did nothing to dim her smile.

***

 

After taking the written Potions N.E.W.T. on Monday afternoon there had been no time to catch her breath after dinner, let alone think of revising for the four N.E.W.T.s that were to follow. Professor McGonagall produced a teetering pile of first year Transfiguration essays for her to mark. Mindful of the responsibility, Hermione agonised over them in her determination to be scrupulously fair, while trying to capture the older woman's often acidic style. But the following morning Severus was sprawled along the sofa, a socked foot protruding from one of the blankets she had left out for him. All that was visible of his head was some untidy tufts of black hair.

Hermione allowed herself one minute of sentiment, one minute to luxuriate in the living, breathing reality of him, only to discover she had spent twenty minutes gawking at him. Which meant she missed breakfast again and her stomach rumbled throughout her practical Transfiguration N.E.W.T. - to the point where Professor McGonagall ignored protocol to halt the Practical and order sandwiches for her.

"Perhaps then the chair you're supposed to be transfiguring will stop bearing a disquieting resemblance to Severus," Professor McGonagall added, absent-mindedly helping herself to one of Hermione's sandwiches.

Hermione grimaced. "I hoped you hadn't noticed."

"Optimistic of you," said Professor McGonagall, with a faint smile. "While that kind of ostentation is frowned on, it displays a high level of skill. There are artists who have made careers from such work. Not that I care for it myself."

"Nor me," said Hermione. "Too much like the things you see at the edges of a nightmare. I heard that Quinapalus is sleeping in the dungeons this week."

"Yes. It doesn't seem to occur to Albus that Severus is too tired to think of organising himself new chambers. Fortunately there's no need."

Hermione gave her a wary look.

"I'm not Albus, my dear. Apart from which, Severus is exhausted." Professor McGonagall added, with a practicality that made Hermione grin. "But I'll have a word with Remus. I'm sure he won't mind moving out of Serpens Tower."

***

 

Hermione was kept so busy helping Professors Flitwick and Sprout that she was slow to absorb the reaction of many of her classmates to the abrupt termination of her schooldays and new status. The spite behind some of the remarks stung, particularly those from Hufflepuffs like Hannah and Susan but she did her best to shrug off the hurt; she had never imagined she was particularly popular, although it would been pleasant to be proved wrong.

***

 

Delighted with the suggestion Ron had made at the last meeting of the Inner Circle, Dumbledore had wasted little time in owling the legal guardians of every pupil. By the time Hermione had finished sitting her N.E.W.T.S. 'The Daily Prophet' was demanding an explanation from the Minister of Magic for the presence of the Dementors around Hogwarts and vigorously campaigning for their immediate removal. Wizarding society - something of an oxymoron given how unsociable the majority of wizards were, unless Quidditch was involved - was in uproar.

"I never thought we'd get this much coverage. See what happens when you set Bill loose on Rita Skeeter," said Ron, exuding pride in the pulling power of his sibling.

"You don't think the paper's campaign might have more to do with the fact that the owner remembered he has a great-niece at Hogwarts?" asked Professor McGonagall, at her most tart because it had been she who had sat up all night, searching through school records in the hope of finding some connection.

Two days later 'The Daily Prophet' smugly reported that, thanks to their untiring efforts to safeguard the well-being of the future of British wizardhood, all Dementors had been recalled - except for two, who would continue to guard the main gates of Hogwarts. The reduction in their numbers brought immediate relief for everyone; nightmares decreased and tempers improved - which was a mixed blessing for the staff, who now had to deal with the increased energy levels of their pupils. The number of detentions handed out rose exponentially.

Half-term loomed. Belatedly alerted to the threat to their offspring a number of parents were threatening to descend on Hogwarts.

 

Happily anticipating her tutorial with Flitwick, Hermione was on her way to the quarters he shared with his wife when she found herself facing Lucius Malfoy's elegant figure. Thanks to Madam Hooch's training it was already second nature for Hermione to slip her wand from wrist to hand behind the concealment of her robes.

"Ah, Potter's Mudblood," drawled Malfoy, his languid, heavy-lidded gaze stripping her where she stood. There was something about his expression that convinced her of his involvement in the death of her parents. While brewing Veritaserum was beyond her skills there must be dark Charms that could rip the truth from Malfoy...

Her skin crawling, she did her best not to react to him. The last time she had been conscious of this much raw magic emanating from one person Severus had been on the brink of a duel with Sirius. The obvious response - the only sensible response - would be to ignore Malfoy and continue on her way. But she couldn't - wouldn't - do it. Quite apart from the fact it was too dangerous to leave him wandering the corridors, there was no way she was going to turn her back on Lucius Malfoy, despite the charms with which she was protecting herself.

"Well?" Impatience sharpened Malfoy's voice.

"Very," returned Hermione pertly, a little confidence returning when she realised that the artistic fall of his hair owed little to nature.

Malfoy looked pained. "No doubt that passes for humour amongst Mudbloods."

"Ah, Lucius," said Dumbledore, as he emerged from an archway Hermione couldn't remember seeing before. "Thank you, my dear," he added to her. "I see you located Mr Malfoy without any difficulty."

It was a lie, of course, but it made Malfoy's eyes narrow and gave substance to the fiction that Harry's friends had mastered skills beyond the capabilities of most.

"No difficulty at all, Albus." Hermione wondered what her chances of being able to damage Lucius Malfoy might be.

"Then we won't detain you." There was a clear warning in Dumbledore's eyes.

Her shoulders held so straight that she made the muscles of her neck ache, Hermione continued on her way. But instead of Malfoy's pale face she saw the ruin of her home. Instead of his sneering voice she heard the screams of her parents as he tortured them to death.

***

 

The demands Voldemort made on his time increasing, Snape was rarely seen around Hogwarts, which increased speculation about exactly what hold he had over other members of staff - and Professor McGonagall in particular. The maintenance of class discipline a technique she had mastered fifty years ago, her temper began to fray at the lack of respect some of the middle school began to display to her - not least from her own Gryffindors.

Already being torn apart by conflicting loyalties, the Slytherins were particularly edgy. While Voldemort was rarely spoken of, the only people who seemed capable of ignoring the threat he posed worked for the Ministry of Magic.

His emotions bludgeoned by the casually inflicted cruelties he witnessed night after night, Snape's role as Voldemort's interrogator became a burden whose weight it was beyond him to conceal. By the beginning of November his reports to Dumbledore reached the point where they were barely comprehensible and it took a burst of phoenix song to bring a semblance of vitality to his voice.

***

 

Jolted awake, sweating, it took Snape a moment to appreciate he must have fallen asleep mid-sentence. Dumbledore sat in front of him.

Before Snape could get to his feet and deny the moment of weakness, Dumbledore took his cold hands in a warm, two-handed clasp.

"I'm relieving you of all teaching duties," he said.

Snape's mouth thinned. "You have some complaint?"

"Only that you seem intent on killing yourself with overwork. In addition to taking over the remainder of your Potions classes, Pinchbeck will officially assume your duties as head of house."

"Over my dead body!"

"With the best will in the world you can't give your house all the attention it needs - particularly in these difficult times."

"So a Slytherin-despising arsehole like Sir - Pinchbeck - is the obvious replacement?" Snape's tone was scathing but despite himself insecurity leaked through. He knew he could be over-protective of those in his charge but was not inclined to examine the reasons why. "While Sinistra doesn't possess the most forceful personality, at least my Slytherins knew and trust her - as much as they trust anyone."

"And would run rings around her, given half the chance," pointed out Dumbledore, releasing Snape's hands. "Much to his own embarrassment, Quinapalus has finally realised that, whatever their house allegiance, children are children. It doesn't stop him wanting to murder them, of course, but he defends your house almost as vigorously as you do yourself. If with even less subtlety," he added pensively. "Yesterday he took twenty points from Gryffindor for bullying a Slytherin, while conveniently ignoring the fact Miss Frayne had not only started the fracas, but was caught holding the evidence."

"But junior Potions - "

"The wards are in place and wherever possible either Remus, Poppy or myself finds an excuse to be close at hand. Which, as you'll appreciate, does nothing to improve Quinapalus' mood."

"It isn't his well-being that concerns me," said Snape, unnecessarily. "Those little bastards can think up more ways to kill themselves than you can dream of. I've had almost eighteen years to learn them, Pinchbeck's had ten weeks."

"The children will be safe," said Dumbledore, in a calm voice that gave no indication of his mounting irritation with Snape's obsessive need to over-protect his students. "It's our intention that these new arrangements will enable you to get more rest."

Snape gave a dismissive shrug and got to his feet. "Easier said than done. 'To me the darkness brings not sleep nor rest.'.'"

"What you might have done twenty years ago - "

" - concerns me less than what I am doing now. Ironic, a Slytherin flinching from the exercise of such power. Judge and jury in one."

"But not executioner." Dumbledore almost succeeded in keeping the question from his voice.

His black eyes unblinking in the candlelight, Snape outstared him with ease.

"Rest easy, Headmaster," he said finally, a shocking bitterness to his voice. "You have nothing else for which you need to forgive me."

"You think me a hypocrite."

It occurred to Snape that no man that old should have eyes so blue.

"What does that matter?" he said, without expression. "If our positions were reversed I would do exactly the same thing."

***

 

Because the removal of most of the Dementors did not bring the improvement he had hoped for, half-term had been a barely registered blip to Harry. His sleep continued to be broken by appalling nightmares in which he heard the cries of his parents as they died and the thin, cruel voice saying, 'Kill the spare' over and over again. Only this time Voldemort meant Ron and Hermione and Harry could only stand and watch them die while Snape sneered at him for his incompetence.

He already knew he was a disappointment to Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Sirius but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was tired of trying to live up to other people's expectations, tired of fighting the imperative to lash out at those who awoke the anger it was so hard to subdue. After meeting an embarrassed deputation from the Gryffindor Quidditch team he had resigned as captain; the humiliation of that failure was like a raw wound. Malfoy had yet to run out of jibes and many others in Harry's year weren't much better.

Harry had taken to avoiding the places where he used to meet Millicent because he didn't want to see the contempt on her face. While Quidditch hadn't been all they had talked about it had been a large part of their budding relationship; she wouldn't want him now. He only saw Hermione occasionally in the distance, while Ron was so preoccupied with the work he was doing for the Inner Circle that even his new girlfriend Claire had to take second place.

His sense of isolation and anger at his inability to steer his own life intensifying, Harry did his best to get through each day without succumbing to the growing urge to hex anyone who crossed him. His truculent behaviour - both in class and out of it - resulted in Professor McGonagall deducting thirty House points and giving him a lecture which made the tips of his ears go red, while his wand hand twitched with the longing to silence her prattle.

And all the time he could feel the clammy chill cast by the presence of the two remaining Dementors, the black pall of depression they exuded a constant pressure against his consciousness. Awake or asleep, he couldn't forget that one careless word was all it would take for Sirius to be captured and face the dreadful kiss of the Dementors. And Snape hated Sirius.

***

 

His report to Dumbledore made, Snape slowly headed for Hermione's quarters. He didn't try to justify his decision any more, just admitted that he hoped she would be there. He hadn't even glimpsed her for four days, or spoken to her for ten - it seemed far longer. The space she occupied in his life seemed to expand whether he wanted it to or not.

Disconcerted, he stopped so abruptly that the stairs he was travelling down had to do some fancy manoeuvring to ensure he didn't fall from top to bottom and break his neck.

How could she have taken over his internal life without him noticing?

Almost numb with fatigue, the question was beyond him to answer. He doggedly continued on his way, shying away from admitting his dependence of another human being.

When he entering the Meeting room, it belatedly occurred to him that ten past four on a November morning was no time to expect to see Hermione; she would be asleep. But there could be no harm in resting by the fire in a room which bore the faintest trace of her scent.

The door to her sitting room was half-ajar, light spilling into the gloom. She was not, as she should have been, in bed. Noiselessly crossing the room, tension began to drain from Snape's face. Hermione's head was pillowed on her folded arms on the portion of table not obscured by rolls of parchment. They were covered in her small, cramped handwriting in that excruciating shade of purple ink she favoured - there was a practical reason why he never tolerated such fripperies from pupils: black ink withstood the test of time the longest. He made a mental note to tell her - preferably without insulting her taste in the process.

Eyelashes skilfully darkened to make them appear even more luxuriant shadowed her cheekbones; the bone structure, previously only hinted at, had arrived with the haircut. Admiring the artful styling that was rarely seen in the wizarding world, his gaze lingered on the vulnerable nape of her neck with its delicate curves and hollows, and the small bumps of her spine. Such a strong spirit to be housed in such a fragile cage.

The only wonder was that Potter hadn't got her killed already. And to lose Hermione...

Too preoccupied with himself, he had never considered that possibility and the terror of it weakened him. It would have been a relief to find a victim at whom he could rail in an effort to vent his fear and rage at being made so vulnerable. Instead, he took the back of her chair in a one-handed death grip until his breathing returned to normal and his legs firmed.

It did nothing for his self-esteem to realise that even more than losing her he was afraid he would betray her trust in him. How could he hope to make her happy? He was long past thirty and three parts iced over. Embittered, anti-social, no fit company... Except for the fact that like two awkwardly shaped pieces of a puzzle he and Hermione fitted in every way that mattered most to them.

Besides, he wasn't about to entrust her happiness to some witless wonder who'd fall for her breasts, even if they were highly distracting.

Hardly aware of what he was doing, Snape caressed her toffee-brown hair with his fingertips, before his hand curled possessively around the base of her skull, his thumb stroking the delicate skin behind one ear. The lobes were plumply defined and he resisted the urge to suck and nip the one closest to him.

Stirring under his touch, Hermione mumbled something incoherent. More asleep than awake she sat up, grimaced and half-turned in his direction.

One cheek bore pink pressure marks. The pleasure which lit her face at the sight of him caught Snape unprepared, his answering smile more revealing than he could know.

"I shouldn't have come here," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to wake you." It was, at best, a half-truth.

"As if that matters. Besides, when I know you're back I stop worrying," said Hermione prosaically, which ended that line of conversation.

Between her brisk practicality and the house elves it took little time to ensure Snape had every comfort it was in their power to provide. Warm and fed, he sat in front of a blazing fire, Hermione curled up on the sofa beside him.

"I should be with my Slytherins," he said, without enthusiasm. "The juniors will have forgotten who I am."

"Because you never make much of an impression of course. You're missed. And by more than your Slytherins. Quinapalus is a terrible teacher," Hermione added dispassionately. It had occurred to her that his combination of over-protectiveness and possessiveness would be difficult to live with until they found a way around it. But when you had so little control over your life it must be difficult to relinquish what little control you did have.

"Of course he is," said Snape, too tired to conceal his satisfaction. "You look tired."

"We all do. You in particular," she added, giving him a critical look. "You need more sleep. And to sleep you need to unwind. I suppose alcohol wouldn't be wise with the cocktail of Potions you're taking."

"No. Besides, I don't drink." Slouched in the corner of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, Snape was staring into the heart of the fire.

While undoubtedly dark and brooding, he was far removed from the typical romantic hero - particularly with that nose seen in profile. Besides, romance was the last thing on his mind, she recognised with regret, before what he had said penetrated her abstraction.

"You never drink alcohol?"

He gave a casual flourish of his hand. "Wandless magic," he said, as if that explained everything - which in a way, it did.

"Oh. I never thought of how dangerous it could be if you lost control," said Hermione, eyeing him in the thoughtful way that still had the power to disconcert him.

He frowned to disguise the fact.

"I've been hoping to speak to you," continued Hermione, untroubled by his scowl. "Mr Frayne has completed the sale of my parents' house. I was worried I'd forget to give you this." She got up to take a small leather sack from the aumbrey before handing the sack to Snape.

"A present?" Accepting it from her, Snape looked intrigued, disdainful and pleased all at the same time, making Hermione wish she had thought of buying him one. Then it occurred to her that he was the wizard least likely to expect a gift.

"Is it your birthday?"

Snape shrugged, irritated by his neediness even after all these years.

"So you're thirty nine."

"Entering my prime," said Snape ironically, aware of the less than flattering changes to his appearance. Flesh stripped from him by ten weeks of tension, missed meals and lack of sleep, his face was all bones and nose, with new lines grooved around eyes and mouth; his tailored clothes hung on him and his long-fingered hands were beginning to resemble claws.

Hermione battled a sudden, absurd desire to weep and disguised her distress by tending unnecessarily to the fire. Severus looked...touch-starved - and increasingly brittle, as if whatever was holding him together was about to shatter but she dared not hug him in case he thought she was asking for more response than he was capable of making. Or perhaps she was intellectualizing something instinctive and failing him when he needed her most? She turned around, studying his long, bony face and decided to trust her instincts.

"How long does a wizard's prime last?" she asked, injecting the necessary level of brightness into her voice.

"About forty years."

"That's a relief. I thought I might miss out completely. Though I don't think either of us would be very good at love's carefree rapture," she added thoughtfully.

Snape gave a snort of derision. "No," he agreed. "Unless it entails you gazing at me adoringly while agreeing with my every pronouncement."

"Cling to that vision," Hermione advised him. "I never thought of you as an optimist before. Though that could just be resistance to all Albus's cheeriness. I wonder what he's really like when - " She remembered just in time that Snape must not know that Dumbledore wasn't the true Warden.

"He's off-duty? I wonder if we'd ever be permitted to see that," said Snape. He moved slightly, dislodging the forgotten sack. Galleons spilled onto the floor, bouncing across the rug-strewn floorboards. He frowned. "Why are you giving me these?"

"It's just repayment of the money you lent me in the summer," she explained.

"I don't want it." Snape got to his feet in one of those disconcerting bursts of energy occasioned by his unorthodox mixture of potions.

Hermione flushed an unbecoming shade of red. "You needn't remind me of just how rich you are. Just because you come from a wealthy family there's no need to patronise - "

Snape stopped in his tracks to stare down at her. "Sorry to disappoint you. The Snapes aren't rich."

"Oh, please. I've seen inside your family vault."

"Family...? Oh." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose in what Hermione was coming to recognise as a stalling tactic. "About that..." He made no attempt to continue.

More adept at reading him, she recognised that the worst he was suffering from was a dent to his pride. Hermione made herself comfortable. "This must be a really embarrassing revelation," she said happily.

"Must you revel in my humiliation quite so openly?" he complained, sounding no more than mildly peevish.

"Who else can I enjoy it with? I wish you'd sit down again. I'm getting a crick in my neck."

He sat beside her but obviously found it difficult not to fidget. After a few seconds he was prowling the room again, although with none of the grace which had once characterised his movements.

"So?" encouraged Hermione. "What's your guilty secret? The money and jewels are fakes? It's all an illusion? Or - "

"There is no 'family' vault - although I presume my parents must have one. Mine came courtesy of Albus. Well, who else could have conceived of that ridiculous snake?"

The flamboyance and touch of drama had seemed perfectly in character to Hermione, although she knew better than to say so. But it explained the motto. Where Severus was concerned she had noticed that all-too-often Albus had a tendency to offer the equivalent of a present and a slap at the same time. "Well, that explains why it wouldn't do as it was told," she said. "It seemed unnecessarily whimsical."

"Amongst other things," said Snape, with remembered grievance. "Albus did it on purpose, of course. He knows I don't even like - "

Hermione's eyes widened with delight. "You don't like snakes, do you."

"Why should I? No one expects Ceres to keep badgers - the fact she looks after the sett that runs through the grounds is neither here nor there. March wouldn't know one end of a raven from another. And I'd like to see Minerva's expression if she was offered a Griffin."

"Hagrid would be thrilled."

"Hagrid's an imbecile where dangerous beasts are concerned."

"Lots of people don't like snakes," Hermione pointed out, but her chin quivered in betrayal. "Poor you," she added, all mock-sympathy.

The affection in her voice meant that Snape let the provocation pass. "As Head of Slytherin I usually get given at least one snake a term - and not always a venomous one," he anticipated.

"I must be predictable if you can anticipate me that easily. Can I ask you something? It's personal. You don't have to answer," she assured him earnestly. "I wouldn't want you to think I was prying."

"Heaven forfend." He picked some non-existent lint from his trousers. "I trust you."

That fact had been apparent for months but Hermione had never expected to hear him confirm it in such a direct fashion.

After a minute or so, Snape looked up. "Do you have to look so fatuous?"

"Drink your tea before it gets warm in front of the fire," said Hermione, unimpressed. "And stop trying to distract me from whatever your secret shame might be. You're too tired to make a good job of it." She could see him begin to relax as he continued to engage in their frivolous conversation.

Shadowed with the plum-brown marks of sleeplessness, his eyes widened. "You're twitting me about a lack of subtlety?"

"I should know better than to expect the last word with you so, changing the subject, let's get back to this embarrassing secret of yours."

"Let us be quite clear on this," said Snape, looking down his nose at her. "I have nothing to be embarrassed about. The potions are of a fine quality and none make false claims, even if the work was completed while I was in my late teens."

"Nothing complicated then," said Hermione wickedly.

Snape gave a reluctant smile. "Don't overplay," he advised her. "I'll tell you in my own time. Though I'm damned if I know why. You'll never let me live it down."

"Probably not. Think of it as character-building," she encouraged him.

"You obviously favour the make or break school of thought. I suppose my youth was an advantage. I just concentrated on making the best preparations I knew how. Their very simplicity was the secret of their success - along with their obvious quality. For some reason no one had thought to offer such a wide range of cosmetics, toiletries and simple medical potions on a commercial level."

Hermione made no attempt to hide her amusement.

"You may as well laugh and get it out of your system," said Snape with resignation. "I'd be sneering myself, if I wasn't the target. Potion Masters are expected to make their name with some incredible breakthrough - preferably something dramatic. Or something dark, of course, such as Craddock's vein-rotting draught. My fortune continues to grow at an alarming rate, thanks to the Peter Frayne's legal skills in drafting the contracts with the various licensees. Every wizard in Britain uses at least one product - from Spot-Less for the treatment of adolescent acne to Marvels for the Mature Mage. Strange as it may seem, I'd rather not go down in the annals of potion making as the Potion Master who created the Wart-On Potion."

"Don't you mean off?"

"I'm not that decrepit. I meant exactly what I said. It isn't easy to be taken seriously as a mature wizard without a few warts and no one had discovered a safe way to produce them at will. Don't stare at me as if I've started speaking Aramaic. You must have noticed that once witches and wizards hit one hundred they want to look venerable - as if they know what they're talking about. Even if that will take some doing in Sybill's case." There was a reassuring note of acidity in his voice. "And, of course, many wizards find the look very becoming."

"They do?" said Hermione blankly.

"Of course. I know you have a tendency towards the single-minded, but you must have noticed that wizarding standards of beauty of very different from the Muggle ideal."

"Oh. Only...when people have told me I'm beautiful..." She'd thought it was too good to be true.

"Ah, back to your Muggle preoccupation with characterless faces and emaciation. By now I would have expected you to realise that the wizard world has far higher standards. We expect character - or the promise of it."

"So I can be a plain Muggle or a beautiful witch." Without being aware of it Hermione had her hand to her cheek - her smooth cheek - as she considered the adult wizards and witches of her acquaintance. Now she thought about it she could count the ones she would call 'beautiful' on one finger. And, with hindsight, Lockhart's propensity for flirting with his own reflection might have owed more to insecurity than vanity... There were plenty of striking looking figures, of course, or the just plain odd-even-after-all-these-years, but those pupils she would call attractive all had at least one Muggle parent.

Snape exhaled irritably. "Don't over-simplify."

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" She closed her eyes with mortification. "Forget I asked," she mumbled.

"It's good to know you're no more immune to vanity than the rest of us," said Snape, the warmth in his voice giving her the courage to open her eyes. "Of course I think you're beautiful. But then I've never cared for warts. Now what have I said? Here, take this. Though why the idea should make you snivel is beyond me." He thrust a clean handkerchief at her, gave her an edgy look and resumed his pacing.

"My real triumph - and greatest money earner come from the Luxurious Locks brand," he said, while Hermione regained her composure, managing to look distractingly pretty even with reddened eyes and splotched skin. "By the time you reach one hundred and thirty you can't rely on nature to grow really impressive eyebrows- or a beard to your waist. Those hair-growing potions were the trickiest - not least in ensuring the hair grows only where you want it. I just wish I'd come up with them earlier in my schooldays," he added, sounding faintly wistful.

Besieged by various unpleasant images, Hermione grimaced and made a mental note to start discouraging Severus from growing any length of beard. Though she missed the plait.

"They're terrible product names," she said critically.

"You don't imagine I chose them? The advertising and marketing of the products is something over which I have far less control," said Snape, with obvious disapproval. "Bewitching Botanicals! I ask you!"

"I use that line!"

"No need to sound so excited. So does virtually every other person at Hogwarts. It never does to underestimate the vanity of wizards."

"Present company excepted, I presume?" asked Hermione dryly. "No wonder you made a fortune."

Snape grimaced. "That's only part of the story. They have certainly earned me a great deal of money. But most of it comes from... I also license production of - um - more personal preparations."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How personal?"

"As personal as it's possible to get - from the medical to the frankly..." Because he adjudged Hermione to be giggling too much to be paying attention, Snape just glared at her.

"Yes, I can quite see you wouldn't want this getting out," said Hermione, fizzing with amusement. "Are you carefully not telling me that you're responsible for the Centaur's Friend? Not to mention the Maiden's - "

Snape gave an uneasy twitch. "As I've already told you, I have no control over the names - "

"Virtually every boy in the Upper Sixth uses the Centaur's Friend."

He resisted the temptation to ask how she knew that. "Of course they do. If word ever got out that I concocted these preparations half the wizarding world would be impotent while the other half indulged in hysterics."

"I know," said Hermione happily. "Though at least this explains why you were able to recite - in Latin - all the ingredients of my hair conditioner that night you were struggling with the logic puzzle I'd set you. While we're on the subject, I want my money back. That conditioner never did a thing for the frizz in my hair. It used to drive me nuts. Nothing kept it down, which meant that every time the wind blew I couldn't see a thing."

"Don't blame the conditioner. I'd wager half my fortune that you were too impatient to wait the full seven and a half minutes. Not to mention using Muggle muck as a shampoo. The instructions clearly state - "

"I know. I didn't use it all the time," said Hermione, on the defensive.

"Once is too often. Although you're not alone in believing you know better than the creator of the potion," Snape conceded with resignation. "Teaching Potions is a thankless task. Most of my pupils assume it's an obsolete art best left that way - handy for the odd prank but put into the curriculum only to make their lives miserable. The majority buy their every day needs from merchants and then complain about the quality of the product. But I don't know why I'm so surprised given how few pupils ever realise that far from teaching the juniors how to hex their friends, what I'm actually teaching them is wandless magic and all that entails in focus, precision and concentration."

"Your obsession with 'no foolish wand waving' was a bit of a clue. Not that I realised for several years," Hermione admitted cheerfully. "I think it takes us so long to realise what you're doing because those first few years are so amazing - not just coming to Hogwarts - but magic itself. Being around so many people who are wizards and witches. Beginning to realise what you're capable of doing. It felt like..." she gestured vaguely "...coming home."

Snape's hand settled on her shoulder. "I've never stopped to consider the culture shock to those from Muggle families," he admitted.

"Pure bloods don't need to," said Hermione matter of factly. "Which is why Hogwarts needs some teachers from Muggle backgrounds."

"Are you volunteering?"

Hermione swung around, her look of horror making him grin.

"That's what I had assumed," he said.

"Although I'm amazed so little research has been done."

"Then there's a possible project for you to consider at some point."

"Yes. Our life span means we don't just have to settle on one speciality. You must need nerves of steel to teach junior Potions. What spurred you into making toiletries and sexual aides?" she added idly, recognising her mistake only when he began to pace around the room again.

"Financial necessity," he said finally. "On my eighteenth birthday I learnt that the Trust Fund set up at my birth had run out, which meant there was no money to pay my school fees, let alone fund my Pupillage with - "

"But surely your parents - ?"

Snape swung round to give her a look of impatience. "They barely remembered my existence from one decade to the next. They used to travel a lot. For all I know, they still do. But the lack of funds meant I would have to leave Hogwarts - there were no scholarships in those days."

"So you went to Albus," said Hermione, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for parents to forget they had a child.

"D'you take me for a Hufflepuff? Of course I didn't." Snape was pacing backwards and forwards along a four yard strip, like a cat in a too small cage.

No, thought Hermione, of course he hadn't. Full of pride, the pain unspoken and heart-deep, he would have lashed out at anyone stupid enough to offer pity, or even help. But despite parental neglect and the barriers he erected, he was familiar with warmth - and he had been loved. She made a mental note to get to know Lippy better.

"Sorry," she said with spurious meekness.

Snape gave her a narrow-eyed glare. "Albus stopped me leaving that night and - " Abruptly the anger was gone to be replaced by an wry resignation. "You know Albus. He asked me to do him a favour."

"That was sneaky, particularly for a Gryffindor."

"It's fortunate I wasn't expecting sympathy or support from you, isn't it," said Snape, but he looked amused.

"So how did he manipulate you into doing what he wanted?"

"The way he always does, one step at a time. It started with an appeal to my vanity. There was a third year with the worst acne I've ever seen. Nothing had helped the condition and between the 'jokes' and the bullying the boy was desperate. Albus asked for my help. It grew from there. The initial royalties for what became known as Spot-Less earned me enough to see me through my final year. Meanwhile, I was creating more and more toiletries and basic medical potions. It had never occurred to me to try before and I found it simplicity itself. No one would has ever accused me of modesty," Snape added dispassionately.

"Those successes reinforced my self-belief to a dangerous degree. My Pupillage was a disaster because I learnt none of the most important lessons. When I had been recognised as a Potions Master I looked around for something that would actually challenge me."

"And then?" said Hermione, when the silence had gone on for some time.

Snape was staring at something only he could see. "Then I went to Voldemort. I was young enough and vain enough to believe that mediocre was the worst fate that could befall anyone, and arrogant enough to imagine I could take what I wanted from Voldemort without becoming contaminated. Then my real education began. He sees enough who doth his darkness see."

Without seeming to be aware of what he was doing he was rubbing his forearm, whatever energy had been keeping him going until this point wholly drained away. And he looked so alone that it didn't occur to Hermione to worry about intellectualising anything; she simply hugged him tight until finally he relaxed enough to bury his face in the hollow between her shoulder and neck and accept the comfort she offered.

And, because she was learning something about the wizard she loved, she wasn't surprised when he took to avoiding her over the next few days.

***

 

Snape wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, too tired to control his shudder of horror at the close proximity of the Dementors, who continued to guard the main gates. It required some effort of will to walk past them, even though he had made this journey every night and morning for the last...

It occurred to him that he couldn't remember how many times he had done this. The wind-driven rain lashed him but he made no attempt to shield himself from it. Despite the cold it felt cleaner than anything else he had experienced that night.

Practised at making inconspicuous exits and entrances, he closed the main gates, checked that the wards were still effective, and headed for the castle by a circuitous route designed to avoid notice.

As Snape entered a stand of trees Dumbledore stepped out from behind an ancient chestnut.

Snape flinched and just managed to stop the hex he had been about to let fly. "You should know better than to creep up on me!"

"Yes."

"Why are you here?" The wind plastered his sodden clothing to his body, the chill sending him into shuddering convulsions.

Dumbledore extended the protective charm that sheltered him from the rain to include Snape, and as an afterthought added a drying charm. "I thought you might like someone to welcome you home. Humbug?"

Snape grimaced and shook his head. "Why?" he persisted.

"Because they're particularly good. You're still wearing your Death Eater robes and mask," Dumbledore added gently. His power was such that it didn't even require a flick of his hand to relieve Snape of the unwanted reminders of his servitude.

Snape grimaced and rubbed his now bare face. "I don't know how I could forget about that. Voldemort must have increased his intake of unicorn blood. He reeks of it." He wrapped his arms around himself. "He's mad as a March hatter!" Unable to remain still, he was stalking around the small clearing, exuding an unnatural, febrile energy.

"Tell me," said Dumbledore, bracing himself for details of cruelties inflicted for no better reason than the whim of a moment.

Snape began to make his report, shuddering from a mixture of cold, fatigue and the horrors of the night. The effort it required for him to concentrate was worryingly obvious.

"Poppy tells me you've increased the amount of stimulant you're taking," said Dumbledore, when at last Snape fell silent.

Slumped on the broad trunk of a massive oak felled in a storm a decade ago, Snape did not look up. While his hands were locked together his fingers were never still. "It's that or fall asleep in front of Voldemort again and next time I won't get off so lightly. I had to question Grimley tonight. I managed to stop him betraying himself totally - he answered Voldemort's initial summons in the hope of saving his brother from the same fate - but his stupidity cost him a prolonged bout of Cruciatus. Presuming what passes for his mind is still functioning, he could be useful to us. If not wholly trustworthy."

"I'll get Alastor onto it," said Dumbledore.

Snape's head shot up, his face a pale blur in the darkness. "Alastor Moody?"

"Ah. Yes. I didn't tell you before because... The moment didn't seem right. He's been appointed the new head of the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore added. While he sometimes disapproved of the methods of the ultra-secret department within the Aurors, who guarded their identity even more closely than the Unspeakables, Severus was quite irrational on the subject.

"I'll make sure my affairs are in order."

"I don't know why you have this foolish prejudice against - "

" - the man whose interrogation technique consisted of ripping through my mind as if it was a piece of old rag?"

"You exaggerate, Severus. I know he dealt harshly with you but - "

His fingers biting into his forearms, Snape battened down the hysteria he could feel bubbling up. Albus had some curious blind spots; Moody's propensity for acting as judge, jury and executioner was one of them.

"I was a Death Eater, so it didn't matter," said Snape, trembling at the memory of what had been done to him. As a skilled interrogator, the crudity of his own questioning had been an added affront - from a distance of eighteen years. At the time it had almost driven him insane. Ironically, it had been that 'Hearing' which had cleared his name and that 'Hearing' which had driven him to kill himself - only to be dragged back from the brink and bound to an unwanted life by a promise forced from him by that self-righteous prick James Potter.

"There was so much going on around the time Alastor took you in for questioning. But that was no excuse. I should have taken more notice of what was happening to you. Was it truly that bad?" asked Dumbledore.

Snape blinked into the older man's worried face. It was a moment before he trusted himself to speak. "It was unspeakable," he said with deliberation, knowing he wouldn't be believed because even Albus Dumbledore was fallible. "And now some idiot has given Moody licence to act with impunity. The Order have never been held accountable for any of their actions over the years but - "

"That will do!"

"Have you forgotten Moody's treatment of Draco Malfoy?"

"Draco was about to launch a cowardly attack on Harry."

"Which justifies transfiguring a thirteen year old boy into a ferret and bouncing him off a stone floor? And you complain about my teaching style. To give Minerva her due, she was almost as angry as I was. You didn't even reprimand Moody, let alone see Draco. And you wonder why my Slytherins are so bitter."

"That wasn't Moody," Dumbledore reminded him.

"It was enough like his usual behaviour for everyone - including you - to accept it as normal! His time in that trunk won't have reduced his paranoia - or improved his grip on his temper. How could you let them appoint him? He's abused every scrap of power he's ever been given. As head of the Order of the Phoenix he has licence to - "

"It was either Alastor or Bode, who's been promoted from the Unspeakables."

"Oh, another sterling example of wizardhood," sneered Snape. "It's interesting how many Gryffindors and Ravenclaws choose to join the Unspeakables - the legitimate version of Death Eaters."

"Severus!"

Snape noted that Dumbledore's outrage didn't extend to meeting his gaze.

"Alastor's appointment is far from ideal, I know," Dumbledore admitted, after a moment. "But I don't have the strength to spare to fight it. Hogwarts takes all my time and energy. At least what's left of our friendship might give me some small influence over Alastor. Besides, until Harry is eighteen he's under my protection, not that of the Order."

"If Potter joins the Order of the Phoenix you'll find yourself with a Dark Lord against whom Voldemort is no more than a gnat."

"That will do! He's a child!"

"Who is changing. Or are you going to pretend you haven't noticed the difference in his behaviour this term?"

"His lack of respect to you is troubling but he's at the age where he needs to challenge authority figures and - "

Snape made a sharp sound of impatience, his hands parting, palms outwards in a gesture of defeat "Yes, yes. I'm not worthy to lick the floor under his boots, Alastor is much misunderstood and Peter Pettigrew wasn't a true Gryffindor. I'm tired. If I'm lucky I might get four hours sleep before I have to get up and do all this again. I'm going to bed."

There was a flash of movement. Snape instinctively stepped between Dumbledore and the threat but it was only Fawkes, who popped into view. He glided from Dumbledore's shoulder to Snape's, resisting all Snape's attempts to hand him back to Dumbledore.

"This impossible bloody bird suddenly weighs..."

"Whatever he wants to," said Dumbledore.

"What an enviable freedom of choice," murmured Snape tiredly, unaware of the assessing looks he was receiving from both wizard and phoenix. "Why is it we never see Fawkes around Hogwarts?" he thought to ask, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Moody.

"His presence is too disruptive. Although you would be surprised how many people have never seen Fawkes, even when he's sitting in front of them. Few outside the Inner Circle, in fact - our true Order of the Phoenix, perhaps?"

"Whimsy at this hour?" said Snape, looking pained - although that could have been because Fawkes was busying grooming the sodden clumps of his hair.

"Malfoy, Fudge and the Dementors have all been in my office at one time or another. None of them appeared to see Fawkes. You never had a familiar as a child, did you?" added Dumbledore, with seeming inconsequence.

"What? No. It never occurred to the house elves that I might like one." Snape sank on to a fallen tree trunk and rubbed his face. "I found an injured pigeon when I was nine and decided it would be my familiar. Only I tried to dose it with some Pepper-Up Potion of my own devising and..."

Dumbledore grimaced. "Oh dear."

"Quite. It rather put me off looking after things." Without seeming to be aware of it, Snape was caressing Fawkes' plump chest with the knuckle of his index finger. It was a while before he spoke again, his voice flat and unemphatic because he had expended his tiny reserve of energy.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this, Albus. No one should have the right to decide who should live or die and I don't even know if I'm making the right decisions any more. Let alone why."

Before Dumbledore could reply Fawkes ruffled his gorgeous plumage and began to sing. While the volume was comfortable for the man whose shoulder he occupied, the sound crept through the trees, lighting the shadows to reveal the dark outline of the two Dementors on the other side of the boundary wall.

The song was piercingly sweet, and so complex that it seemed impossible the unearthly sound could come from just one throat. Voldemort forgotten, the hair on the back of Snape's neck prickled, tension draining from his face and body as he soaked up the glorious music Fawkes was creating. His eyes on the first, faint light, he watched the cloaked figures of the Dementors shift with obvious unease. Old resentments and his ever-present fear dropping away, Snape's mind began to work with crystal clarity; it occurred to him that he felt none of the edgy chill the Dementors usually inspired in him. He stared from Fawkes to the Dementors and back again as the last shimmering note faded away.

"Severus? What is it?" asked Dumbledore, his tone sharpening when the other man was slow to respond.

"Protect your hearing," Snape told him. "And watch the Dementors." Taking out his wand, because he was too tired to trust himself to wandless magic, he transfigured earmuffs for Dumbledore and himself from two buttons from his waistcoat, then turned to Fawkes.

"Once more, old friend. Only louder if you will. For as long as you are able." After casting a directional charm, he held the tip of his wand to Fawkes' throat and murmured Sonorous.

His bright gaze on Snape's face, Fawkes opened his beak. This song wasn't one Dumbledore could remember hearing before, although he would be the first to concede his musical tastes were more in line with the school song. High and clear, the multi-layered sounds held a sweetness so piercing that only the ear muffs made it bearable at this close proximity. The effect on the Dementors was immediate; at first it was no more than a restlessness but as the song became increasingly complex their distress became evident. They bent and twisted, their scaly hands to their hooded heads, their dreadful mouths wide, as if trying to suck life from the very air.

"Lumos," commanded Dumbledore. The tip of his wand cast a light bright enough to see that the Dementors were dwindling like smoke in the wind until there was nothing left - not even a smudge of grease.

With an expression which could only be described as smug, Fawkes stopped singing.

His face lit with joy Dumbledore turned to Snape, only to groan when he realised what had happened. His eyes unfocussed, Snape's expression of exultation had changed to the slightly vacuous look of someone blissed out on phoenix song.

"Bugger," muttered Dumbledore irritably.

It was too easy to take Fawkes for granted - to forget how dangerous a creature a phoenix was. Medieval manuscripts spoke of wizards who sought out this state, supposedly for spiritual enrichment. Seven hundred years ago it had been an offence punishable by death to 'keep company' with a phoenix - ambiguous phrasing which still led to much ribald speculation. Even now too little was known about the phoenix. He and Fawkes had acquired one another just over seventy years ago and he understood him - her? - no better now than he had then. Genevieve hadn't even been able to see or hear Fawkes - much to her annoyance - and in consequence had not appreciated sharing her home with a phoenix. But this development...

He glanced at his companion in a hopeful manner but Snape was oblivious, his face still wearing that same disquieting blank smile, lines of stress and exhaustion smoothed away. Dumbledore racked his brains for the antidote to this state of euphoria, starting and discarding various charms after only a word or two.

Despite the heavy rain, the darkness was lifting. There were lights in almost all the windows of Hogwarts by now. As it was a Saturday, Quidditch-mad juniors would be out wanting to practice. It wouldn't do for them to see Severus in this state. Dumbledore rolled up his sleeves and applied himself.

Snape's expression did not change.

Dumbledore's frown deepened when it occurred to him that Snape's blank face bore an uncomfortable resemblance to someone under Imperious. He glared at Fawkes. Still perched on Snape's shoulder, the phoenix rocked precariously on one foot while he scratched the side of his head, the scritching sound as his quills rattled together loud in the silence.

"If you're so damn clever, you snap him out of it," said Dumbledore crossly.

Fawkes shrugged, his shimmering plumage seeming to ripple, before he leant down and nipped Snape sharply on the ear lobe.

Snape flinched, blinked and intelligence flooded back to his face but the deep lines of fatigue did not return; in fact he looked as if he had enjoyed several weeks of uninterrupted, untroubled sleep. He rubbed a smear of blood from a smarting ear lobe.

"What happened?" he asked, unoriginally.

"I've never seen anyone lost to phoenix song before," said Dumbledore. "It took Fawkes to bring you out of it."

Snape sniffed and flexed his neck and shoulders, as if wondering where the stiffness had gone. "I can see why they banned phoenixes. It's an 'interesting' sensation." He paused, then swung around to stare in the direction of the gates. "I didn't imagine it then. The Dementors really are gone."

"Oh Merlin!" cried Dumbledore, as the realisation sank in. He took Snape in a powerful hug.

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed," said Snape, withdrawing with as much dignity as was possible. "I thought it was impossible for a phoenix to kill. So how - ?"

"I have no idea," said Dumbledore, looking remarkably sanguine about the fact. "But I could hazard a guess. Dementors turn joy to despair and feed on misery. Perhaps they destroyed themselves by overdosing on joy. If so, they weren't the only ones to overdose. You were suffering from phoenix euphoria - a state I'd never quite believed in until I saw it for myself. At least, I presume that's what accounted for your fatuous expression."

"Too kind," said Snape dryly. "Though I wouldn't call it 'suffering' exactly. It was an extraordinary experience. That song was the most exquisite sound I have ever experienced. But why now? This morning?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Unfortunately Fawkes doesn't take me into his confidence. I think I envy you for being able to sink into that song so deeply. I've never had much of an ear for music."

"No?" marvelled Snape.

"That's a relief, you're sounding more like yourself."

For the first time in days, Snape grinned. "I feel...restored," he said slowly, his smile fading as his brain further engaged. "The Dementors were sent here by the Ministry. You'll have to notify Fudge that they've vanished. There will be questions. What will you do?"

"Lie, of course," said Dumbledore placidly. Tucking his arm in Snape's, he led the way out of the stand of trees. "Although I could wish you wouldn't look so approving" he added, in a pained tone.

"Severus? What is it?" he added, having to pitch his voice louder as a strong wind came from nowhere, making the ancient trees protest and whipping up half-rotten leaves until they seemed to be in the centre of a vortex of air and debris that stung and smarted unprotected portions of skin.

"Can you smell something...odd? As if - " Snape stared upwards, protecting his eyes from the rain as he searched the clouded sky.

By now both men were braced against the onrush of air. Shoulder to shoulder, they cast spell after spell up into the sky but could see nothing. They were half-deafened by an assault of noise - an dry creaking interspersed with unpleasant grumbling gurgles, like a mud geyser about to erupt. Then came a grinding protest as stones shifted. Snape began to race towards the castle, Dumbledore at his shoulder.

Something - or someone - had just landed on the roof of Hogwarts.


	25. Chapter 25

TWENTY FIVE

 

If Charlie Weasley had hoped to keep his arrival at Hogwarts a secret, landing a Norwegian Ridgeback on the school roof was not the way to go about it.

Their arrival had been far from simple, Norbert losing confidence at the last moment; only the frantic sweep of his leathery wings and some fancy footwork prevented him from over-shooting his target and hitting a buttress. He thumped onto the flat roof of Hufflepuff Tower with all the grace of a re'em learning to ice-skate. Ancient stones groaned under the impact of even older magic but Hogwarts held firm. Already bearing the scars of a thousand years of weather and some fierce battles, nervous grotesques skittered behind whatever shelter they could find, while panicking gargoyles spat water for all they were worth.

Norbert blasted off a twenty foot flame and roared his fright to the world.

The ensuing sounds of panic from within the castle made Charlie, who had experienced a trying week, swear with even more feeling.

 

Because desperate times required desperate measures Dumbledore crashed all the protective wards barring Apparition within the grounds of Hogwarts, grabbed Snape by the wrist and Disapparated them both onto the roof of Hogwarts.

The noise, the reek and the heat made it obvious there was a dragon about although exactly where it might be was another matter. Even Dumbledore would require the assistance of several powerful wizards to force a cloaked dragon into visibility. He applied the 'Sonorous' charm and called out in a language unfamiliar to Snape; only some nippy footwork saved the headmaster from incineration as Norbert belched flame.

Dumbledore straightened his hat with a nonchalant nudge of his wand and called out again, this time in Tosk; the embroidered dragonflies began a frantic dance amongst the flowers decorating the cap, as if trying to escape the now sulphurous air as another flame shot across the roof of the tower.

"Hello, sir!"

The bellow sounded oddly familiar. Dumbledore scanned the roof, relaxing when a wind-swept Charlie Weasley popped into view thirty-five feet above them.

"Sorry about that," called Charlie, with no visible sign of repentance. "Only Norbert had some nasty experiences in Albania. I'll see if he'll decloak and make life easier for everyone."

After a tense few seconds Charlie's appearance of straddling mid-air gave way to the sight of him perched behind the head of an thirty-seven foot long dragon. Charlie straightened from where he had been speaking directly into one small bronze-coloured ear to move from the intricate looking saddle to a knotted rope in one graceful movement; he reached ground level in one fluid slide. Dressed in dragon hide from the tip of his stylish hat to his knee-high boots, he seemed to blend in with the dragon, against whose scaly leg he propped himself. He tipped his hat at a jaunty angle, which helped to hide both the freckles and the small burn on the tip of his nose.

"This is Norbert. Hagrid's little Norbert," he prompted, when neither Dumbledore or Snape reacted. "You mustn't mind him growling. Only his bowels are playing him up and that always makes him testy. Sorry if we gave you a bit of a scare," he added cheerfully.

Dumbledore found his voice. "'A bit of a scare?'" he echoed, in a tone few pupils had ever heard from him and which gave a sudden, disconcerting reminder that this was not just a dotty old man who wore frivolous caps and had no eye for colour. "How dare you bring a dragon through the wards without warning us first. And as for landing it on the roof... Of all the reckless, irresponsible - "

Charlie's broad, freckled face lost some of its assurance as Dumbledore wasted no time in making the extent of his displeasure plain, above the appalling gurgling noises which were still coming from Norbert. There was an ugly rattling sound as the spikes along Norbert's long tail scraped across the corner of the tower, leaving scars in its wake.

Dumbledore yanked Snape out of harm's way. "Severus, do try to concentrate!" he said with exasperation. When he gained no response he gave an apologetic shrug and pinched Snape sharply on the ear lobe.

"Albus? Bloody hell!" gasped Snape, as he took in the immensity of the dragon that was so terrifyingly close.

"At last. Now, if you think you could concentrate on not getting eaten," said Dumbledore with heavy-handed sarcasm.

Snape kept a wary eye on the dragon and a firm grip on his wand, needing all the reassurance he could get against this much ancient magic. The dragons brought to the Tri-wizard Tournament had been poor specimens, drugged beforehand and weakened by repeated stupefying spells and internment - egg laying always took a lot out of the females.

He hoped that Hermione - and those in his House - hadn't been too frightened by this breach of Hogwarts's security, although it was difficult to see how they could have been anything else. He flinched when Norbert turned his head to give him a considering look from pitiless orange eyes. This was the closest he had ever come to a live dragon; it was a disquieting experience to find yourself so near to a beast who regarded you as nothing more than a bony snack. His respect for Charlie Weasley went up another notch.

"You don't, I trust, intend to leave this beast on the roof of Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked Charlie, in a milder tone of voice.

"I didn't intend to land here at all," said Charlie ruefully. "Is Severus all right?"

"He's recovering from the effects of phoenix euphoria," said Dumbledore, half-turning to include Professor McGonagall, who had just arrived, in his explanation. "I believe I may be experiencing it a little myself. It's surprisingly difficult to concentrate, even when faced with... Is Norbert supposed to do that?" he added with distaste as Norbert gave him a more intimate view of a dragon than most received.

"He's a beast," explained Charlie laconically. He looked less like a romantic hero and more like an over-grown first year when he saw Professor McGonagall's mouth thin with a mixture of fright and displeasure.

"Charlie Weasley, I should have guessed who it would be. You were behind at least three quarters of the trouble in Gryffindor house from the day you arrived at Hogwarts." Even in her human form she still managed to look like an angry cat whose fur had been stroked the wrong way. "The school is in uproar and the pupils... What idiotic prank is this? Merlin's balls, it's alive!" With more prudence than valour she nipped behind Dumbledore.

Norbert cocked his vast head and eyed the new arrival in the manner of a gourmet considering which hors d'oeuvre to try first.

Charlie thumped Norbert's scaly flank with the side of his fist. "Leave over showing off. It's as I was about to say, Professor. I didn't intend to land here at all. We're on our way up to the McFlurries' reservation. They've agreed to let bygones be bygones," he added in parentheses.

"Then I suggest you continue on your way with all possible speed," said Dumbledore, in what was unmistakeably a command. "I will not tolerate having a dragon on school premises. Although he does seem a fine specimen," he added, drifting closer towards Norbert.

Professor McGonagall yanked him back, her other hand gripping Snape's arm.

"Have you two lost your minds?" she demanded, quivering with fright. "That's a dragon!"

"Don't fuss, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "We can see that for ourselves. I've never really had much to do with dragons. Well, not live ones. It's all very well discovering the twelve uses of dragon's blood but I would have enjoyed getting to know one."

"If you two have been smoking sativa again you can explain yourselves to Poppy," warned Professor McGonagall, "I wash my wand of the pair of you."

Charlie stored that nugget away to share with his brothers at a later date.

"Now, Minerva," began Dumbledore placatingly.

"It's just the aftermath of phoenix euphoria," said Snape, squinting as he tried to concentrate. "Fawkes sang to me. Then I applied the Sonorous and he sang loud enough to... the two Dementors at the gates just dissolved like smoke in the wind. And I - er - " His voice lacking its usual bite, he waved an untypically vague hand. "Phoenix bliss isn't a myth. Though Albus didn't seem affected when he brought me round. Maybe it's had a delayed reaction on him because the silly old coot - "

" - is standing beside you and has perfect hearing," said Dumbledore, veering back to the tart after the fatuous. "Mr Weasley, wipe that smirk from your face, take your dragon and go. And never land one on Hogwarts again."

"No, sir. The thing is..."

"Now, Mr Weasley."

"It isn't as if I intended to land Norbert on the roof," protested Charlie, aggrieved.

"You're supposed to be a Dragon-Whisperer," said Dumbledore acidly.

"But not a miracle worker," pointed out Charlie with patience. "Dragons and wizards co-exist only because of their...well, goodwill is probably putting it a bit strongly. To be blunt, if a dragon doesn't want to do something we ask of them there isn't a damn thing one wizard can do about it. It takes at least seven powerful wizards to stupify one - and that's no way to treat a dragon. Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has stopped trying to find ways of killing them. Babies just out of the egg are more his line," he added, with a terrible contempt.

"Voldemort," interjected Dumbledore. "The sky won't fall if you call him by his name. My goodness, and isn't it a pretty sky this morning."

Charlie blinked. "I suppose so. He - Voldemort's Death Eaters had this...facility in Albania. The bastards have been trying to tinker with dragon reproduction. They soon learnt better," he added, relaxing now Snape and Dumbledore had stopped trying to immolate themselves on Norbert's breath. "The facility was flamed out of existence by a weyr of dragons. The dragons the Death Eaters tried to experiment on were just out of the egg and hadn't come into their powers, beyond the ability to flame a couple of feet. The poor little ducks were an easy target. I would have owled you, Severus, but Albania was too full of dragon hunting Death Eaters for comfort so I decided to bring Norbert out while I could. That said, you needn't worry about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacking Hogwarts with dragons."

"What if he found himself a Dragon-Whisperer?" asked Snape.

Charlie shrugged. "I only know of five others," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm not stupid enough to think I could resist if He-Who - Voldemort," he amended, pinned by Dumbledore's glare " - put me under Imperius, but I know damn well that he couldn't control a dragon. Beyond killing it, of course. "

Professor McGonagall wrinkled her nose fastidiously . "Well, now we've established that, kindly remove this creature from the grounds. It won't take you long to fly up to the reservation. You can Apparate back tonight. I know Molly would like a word," she added ominously.

Charlie grimaced. He'd take an irate Albus Dumbledore over his mother any day of the week.

"As would we," added Professor McGonagall. "Hermione's puzzle board would benefit from some informed input about dragons - and Dragon-Whisperers."

"Now, wait a moment," said Charlie. "Me being a Whisperer isn't for public consumption!"

"Nor are many of the facts we're compiling," said Professor McGonagall, wincing as Dumbledore began to hum. "Go away before our more nervous pupils assume this appalling smell is Voldemort's doing. Oh, this is all we need," she added, as the door leading up onto the roof was flung open.

"Where is 'e, the little precious?" cried Hagrid, red in the face from having taken the stairs six at a time. "I'd recognise that smell anywhere. Shocking trouble 'e used ter 'ave with 'is bowels. Shocking." Rushing in where any sane wizard would have headed in the opposite direction, he was in danger of being burned to a crisp.

"Bless 'im," Hagrid crooned. "I swear 'e knows me," he beamed, portions of his clothing and hair smouldering. He escaped incineration only because of Charlie's skill at deflecting flames.

"That's because you're an imbecile," said Professor McGonagall tartly, elbowing Snape in the ribs when he gave a snort of laughter.

"Oh, 'ello, Minerva," said Hagrid, without ever taking his eyes off Norbert, whose only sign of recognition was another attempt to incinerate him.

"We've got to do it, Albus," said Snape, propping himself against the wall in a decidedly casual manner. "Rubeus will never be able to keep this to himself and if the Ministry get to hear of it Charlie will face a fine that... I know a memory charm is required but I can't remember which."

Dumbledore laughed, which made Professor McGonagall look even crosser.

"Just as well," she said. "I won't have either of you attempting delicate work like that while the pair of you are blissed out of what passes for your minds. Kindly leave me to do what needs to be done. Charlie, go away. Now." She divided her attention between watching them and Charlie Weasley, as he meekly remounted Norbert. Rider and dragon took ponderously to the air.

"She's wonderful when she's angry, isn't she," remarked Dumbledore with pride. "I think I might have been a bit stern with Charlie."

"I should have asked him for some fresh dragon scales," mourned Snape. "There's a potion that... Well, I don't exactly remember what it does right now but I know it needs fresh dragon scales."

"It's for walking through fire," said Dumbledore authoritively.

"No, that's dragon-hide boots. Did you know dragon's shed their skin?" added Snape.

"I do know something about dragons. Who discovered the twelve uses for dragon's blood?"

"Oh, even I know that one," said Snape smugly. "You did. I've got a memory enhancing potion you might want to try."

Her eyes narrowing, suspicious that this might be some misguided attempt at humour on their part, Professor McGonagall resisted the temptation to knock some sense back into the pair of them. The beaded flowers decorating Dumbledore's cap were giggling together in the most irritating way, while the fatuous smile which kept appearing on Snape's face was enough to make her feel ill, although that might have been the knowledge that she still had to Obliviate Hagrid.

By the time Norbert and Charlie were no more than a fiery dot in the sky, Hagrid was back in his hut preparing a stoat sandwich and wondering how he had managed to burn off clumps of his beard.

 

Professor McGonagall took Dumbledore and Snape straight to see Madam Pomfrey, who wasted no time performing a diagnostic check with her wand.

"Physically there's no indication of anything being wrong with either of them," she said, frowning - not least because Dumbledore's humming was driving her mad. "They both look as if they've enjoyed a good holiday. I could give them a full medical, of course but there doesn't really seem any need. If this is the result of phoenix bliss I can't understand why no one has ever written about it. Do you realise the possibilities for curing - ?"

"Never mind that," said a harassed looking Professor McGonagall. "When will they be in their right minds?"

"It's hard to say. I would think a few more hours rather than days."

"Can't you accelerate the process?" demanded Professor McGonagall. "We can't have the pair of them wandering around the school in this state."

"Well, I could try a triple-strength dose of that hangover cure Severus came up with when Professor Kettleburn had his...um...episodes," mused Madam Pomfrey, rummaging through her stock cupboard. "Ah, here it is." She checked the expiry date. "And still fit to be used."

"That's a matter of opinion. I'm not drinking that muck," said Dumbledore with decision. "It tastes like rotting tripe and smells even worse. I don't know what all the fuss is about, there's nothing wrong with me."

"If only that were true," sighed Professor McGonagall. "Albus, will you do me a favour?"

"Anything, my dear. Anything at all." His smile held so much affection that she forgave the expansive sweep of his arm, which knocked her hat askew.

"Go and sleep it off," she said, with a trace of desperation.

"Sleep what off?" he asked.

Madam Pomfrey left her colleague to give Snape the sobering up potion while she took charge of Dumbledore before the Deputy Head could perform an Unforgivable on the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Ten minutes later gentle snores issued from the bed under the window of the hospital wing; all that could be seen of Dumbledore, who was snug under the covers, was cap tilted over his face and the pointed tips of his orange boots.

 

Professor McGonagall experienced a faint pang of guilt when Snape took the potion she handed him with a trusting nod of thanks. His gratitude was short-lived.

After rinsing his mouth out for the fifth time Snape accepted that he would just have to wait for the rest of the taste to wear off. He revived enough to cast some unpleasant aspersions on Professor McGonagall's parentage. "There is no mercy in you, is there?" he said bitterly. "There was I, no trouble to anyone..."

"Self-delusion is a wonderful thing. The children mustn't see you while you're in this state."

"All the more reason to leave me alone. Besides, it's the weekend. My contract specifies that I'm only supposed to work one weekend in four. Albus is always telling me to take time off and frivol."

In all the years she had known him she had never heard Snape complain about his lack of free time. "That potion should have worked by now," she said worriedly. "All this untypical good-humour in the face of adversity is most disquieting."

"It must be," he said sympathetically.

She grinned despite herself and sat beside him. "Goodness, you really are relaxed. I suppose there's no hope of this state of affairs continuing once the state of phoenix euphoria wears off?"

"Ah, but wouldn't you miss me?" asked Snape.

Professor McGonagall hesitated, then surrendered with grace. "I realise I'm making a rod for my own back, but yes, I would. Now come on do. There's nothing like a dragon before breakfast to give one an appetite. No, you go down the staircase first - in case you stumble."

"Don't want me landing on you, eh? Very wise," said Snape.

There seemed little point in explaining she hoped to stop him from killing himself.

Snape had entered the corridor outside the hospital wing when Professor McGonagall yanked him back. "Your appearance!" she hissed. "You need to apply the Appearance Detracting Charm."

Snape put a hand to his face. "But I didn't remove it," he said blankly.

"Then presumably Fawkes did. Just apply the charm, Severus."

His visible concentration was slightly worrying but she relaxed when she saw a more familiar profile appear.

"How's that?" he asked, gesturing to his face.

"Highly unpleasant. Situation normal, in fact. Oh, have you remembered that you're back in Serpens Tower?"

"Not with B - Pinchbeck?"

"He's sleeping down in the dungeons the better to keep an eye on your Slytherins. Some of the third and fourth years..."

"It's always the third and fourth years. When it's not the fifth years. Or the second years. Of course, the first years..."

"Severus, you're rambling."

"Nonsense." His forehead wrinkled. "Was I? It's difficult to concentrate for more than a few minutes."

"Are you sure you shouldn't sleep this off?"

Snape waved the query aside. "You worry too much, Minerva. ''Tis magic, magic that hath ravish'd me.' I wonder if they're serving kippers this morning. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a good kipper."

It required some exertion to keep up with him as he set off down the first staircase. He finally came to a halt outside the Great Hall. As they listened to the noise coming from inside they both braced themselves.

"Listen to those children. What do we tell them to account for this disturbance?" demanded Professor McGonagall.

"That we have just completed a successful test of Hogwarts's defences and repelled the enemy without injury to ourselves," said Snape promptly.

"And what if they - or the Ministry - ask about the intruder?"

"Get Albus to tell them the Dark Lord isn't the only enemy of wizarding freedom."

Professor McGonagall pinched the thin bridge of her nose. "But then the news will get back to Voldemort and he'll assume he has a rival and - " She broke off to give Snape a look of approval. "That's very good, Severus. That potion must be working at last."

"Perhaps it's just that lying comes easily to me," he said straight-faced.

Undeceived, she gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "It would be a pleasure to box your ears."

"You never have yet. Now, kippers," he added more briskly.

"Don't you think you'd be happier eating in Serpens Tower?" she asked hopefully.

His eyebrows rose. "Ashamed to be seen with me?"

"Will you behave," she scolded in a venomous whisper.

With no intention of doing anything of the kind, he suddenly noticed how tired she looked. Minerva wasn't an old woman, of course, barely middle-aged by wizarding standards, but she was doing the work of two people while allowing her good-name to be slandered by idiot children who should have known better.

"I promise to be unkind to the children," he offered.

Rather than smile, she held him back for a moment but could think of nothing to say that wouldn't make her sound like Sybill Trelawney.

"Is something wrong?" he added in a different tone. "Apart from this morning?"

For a moment her straight shoulders slumped. "I don't know," she admitted with a trace of helplessness. "I've not been sleeping well and the work keeps piling up but - I have this feeling," she added with obvious distaste, as if the aberration was nothing to do with her. "As if something dreadful is about to happen. Though so help me, if you make one crack - "

"You've been reading Titmouse's Prophecies again, haven't you?" recognised Snape with resignation.

"He says November is the month of blood and sacrifice," she said unwillingly "and this has been a particularly long November."

"I know," Snape said.

"Aren't you going to tell me it's all superstitious nonsense?"

"Why bother? Your own good sense has done that. You've been under considerable strain this term, not least from the children of your own house. Your Gryffindors need a sharp lesson in manners. They're bullies and cowards, not to mention stupid if they've learnt so little about you. You would no more drink on duty than ride bare-back on a broom."

"Severus!" she protested, failing to sound shocked. "When I agreed to play the drunken incompetent I knew house discipline would suffer."

Snape didn't make the obvious reply even though he knew he would regret the missed opportunity when next she irritated him. "You should take the rest of the weekend off."

"I've got the seventh years final career sessions this morning," she said with gloom. "All ten of them - including Goyle and Malfoy."

"At least it won't be as dull as ten Hufflepuffs." Snape fished in a pocket and produced a knut. "As I feel as rested as if I've had a week's sleep, I'm willing to gamble. You call it. Loser takes all ten sessions."

 

Hermione had never considered herself to be particularly imaginative but weeks of knowing Severus had gone to Voldemort, combined with the uncertainty of when - if - he would return, had proved otherwise. Whether waking or asleep it was difficult to banish thoughts of what might be happening to him. She slept poorly and it was beginning to take its toll on her.

Woken by what had sounded like an attack on the school had left her jumpy and out of sorts, although she was learning to conceal what she felt. Outwardly calm, she wasted little time in calling on Madam Pomfrey; she hadn't believed the story Minerva had fed them in the Great Hall for a moment, although at least Severus had been there. To her relief the hospital wing had no patients, a real crisis convincing would-be malingers of their glowing health. Besides, no one wanted to miss the grudge match between Slytherin and Gryffindor which was to take place that afternoon.

"Oh, come in, my dear," said Madam Pomfrey with a welcoming smile. "You're the perfect excuse for me to stop stock-taking. Don't worry about that noise, it's just Albus snoring. He's sleeping off the effects of phoenix bliss. Come into the office and I'll order some tea - and toast. You look as if you haven't eaten."

"What's phoenix bliss?" asked Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey brought her up-to-date while they enjoyed a late breakfast. "Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

Hermione ploughed right in. "I know the initiation of the new Death Eaters took place before term began, but from what we know there's nothing to stop Voldemort from giving anyone the Dark Mark whenever he choses, is there?"

"What makes you say that?" asked Madam Pomfrey sharply, before her expression relaxed at Hermione's look of surprise. "You haven't got some hare-brained scheme about offering yourself up to him, I trust?"

"No," said Hermione, looking pained. "Even Voldemort wouldn't believe that. But he could, couldn't he?"

"You should discuss this with Severus."

"I don't need his input for what I have in mind."

"Go on," said Madam Pomfrey.

In single-minded pursuit of her idea Hermione was oblivious to the trace of reserve in the mediwitch's manner. "Suppose, for argument's sake, that some of the seventh years had taken the Dark Mark since the summer Initiation. How would you feel about conniving in the sedation, kidnapping and unauthorized examination of one or two of your patients?"

"Unenthusiastic. I take it this isn't a joke?"

"I've never been more serious," said Hermione earnestly. "I'm worried - terrified - about what carrying the Dark Mark might mean for individuals."

"Severus," cut in Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione's shoulders sagged. "Yes."

"Which concern justifies what you are proposing?"

"Not exactly justifies. Look, if I knew where Percy was I'd suggest using him. It's not just about Severus and Percy though. From what Severus has said many of the new intake of Death Eaters are far from being volunteers. Their families have been threatened, attacked in some cases."

"That doesn't justify the action you propose."

"We need to understand the Dark Mark," said Hermione, desperation seeping through.

"Do you think Albus hasn't thought of this in the years since the Dark Lord returned?"

"Thought, possibly. But what has he actually done to eradicate or nullify the Dark Mark?"

"It's called the Dark Mark for more than its appearance. It was devised and created by the darkest of magic and the most wicked of intentions. Severus has - understandably - been unwilling for anyone to study the mark, but Albus believes the Dark Lord may be able to draw power from his Death Eaters."

"Has he also told you what efforts he's made to remove or study the Dark Mark?" pursued Hermione, wearing the dogged expression which Ron and Harry had become all too familiar with over the years.

Madam Pomfrey's gaze slid away. "Not exactly. Oh, for heaven's sake, child! Do you seriously imagine Albus would sit back and do nothing if it was within his power to - "

"Yes, I do."

There was a small, stark silence.

Breath wooshing from her, Madam Pomfrey sank onto the nearest chair. "What has Albus ever done that you should so dislike him?"

"I don't. Though I should. But when you're with him his charisma is such that you find yourself wanting to please him. Yet he's the wizard who sacrificed Harry's childhood. The wizard who left an untrained eleven year old face Voldemort. A wizard who has consistently not told Harry things which might have helped or comforted him - and of all people Harry's needed that. A wizard who hasn't even seen to it that Harry's had decent training against the Dark Arts.

"Good grief, Poppy, Albus couldn't even come straight out when he told me to use the time turner, at a point where lives depended on split second timing! Luckily I didn't appreciate the implications until afterwards or I might have frozen and Sirius and Buckbeak would have been dead."

"How do you think Severus will react to what you're proposing?"

"I thought I'd take a leaf from Albus' book. There's no need to load Severus down with information until we have to," said Hermione evasively.

"Who amongst the seventh years do you think might be a Death Eater?"

"Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle."

"You Gryffindors," sniffed Madam Pomfrey. "Once you develop a prejudice you really hold on to it, don't you? Vincent Crabbe may look like the second cousin of a mountain troll but he's turned into a nice, dependable boy. He's come on amazingly in herbology, has a sense of ridiculous, and is both amused by and protective of the juniors. He's proving to be an excellent prefect."

In no mood to be lectured, Hermione folded her arms.

"Why speak to me about your plan? You must have known I would disapprove - besides, you're more than capable of going ahead and doing it anyway," added Madam Pomfrey.

"I thought about it," admitted Hermione, her frown lifting now it was obvious she was going to get her own way. "But I need your diagnostic skills. I don' t want to risk taking any action which might compromise our tests on the Dark Mark."

"That's a cold-blooded way of looking at it."

"There's nothing admirable about war, whichever side you're on. And the sooner the wizarding world faces up to that the sooner it will be over," snapped Hermione.

"Get Severus to agree to having his Dark Mark examined and I'll think about helping you with some more test cases."

"But - " Hermione silenced her instinctive protest. "All right. I'd like to make one other test, that of scent, if any. Of the Dark Mark, I mean. We already know the mark on Severus' arm has no smell. I wondered if Remus would be prepared to help."

"What difference does the smell make?"

"I don't know! That's the point," added Hermione more moderately. "It's why I'm trying to cover every contingency. Once we understand what the Dark Mark is and how it was constructed we have a better chance of removing it - and not just from Severus."

"I suggest involving March at the earliest possible stage. What he doesn't know about Charms isn't worth knowing. Severus will take more persuading," added Madam Pomfrey without subtlety.

"I know," said Hermione with gloom, not looking forward to that part. "There's no need to tell Albus, is there?"

"Absolutely not. Given how much of his strength is given to maintaining the protection around Hogwarts, with luck he won't find out." Madam Pomfrey gave a tired smile. "Don't look so shocked. Above all else Hufflepuffs are pragmatists."

 

After a mind-numbingly tedious morning listening to the career plans of the dull and undistinguished - or worse, the social plans of those with no financial need to earn a living - Snape remembered why he never made altruistic gestures; they always bit you on the arse. There was nothing like boredom for dispelling phoenix euphoria. Only two more pupils to go, after which he might just take to drink himself.

Ron hurried in for what would be the last discussion he would have about possible careers since he had decided against joining the Aurors.

"Professor Snape," he said, coming to a halt just inside the door of Professor McGonagall's office.

"No, I haven't murdered your head of house. We had a bet, I lost. Close the door, come in and sit down. The quicker we begin, the quicker we finish. Given your change of heart, what career do you want to follow when you leave Hogwarts?" asked Snape briskly.

"What I want to do doesn't come into it," Ron replied, trying to press any resentment from his voice. "Mum and Dad lost everything when the Burrow was destroyed. Dad gets treated like dirt by the Ministry. Bill and Charlie have only just started earning anything like a decent wage and have loans to pay off before they can help much and Percy..." His large hands parted as his voice trailed away.

"What about Fred and George?" asked Snape prosaically.

"They've always got away with murder. I shouldn't think there's much chance of them developing a sense of responsibility now and mum won't ask them to - " Ron shrugged and changed tack. "If I get respectable results for my N.E.W.T.s I should be able to get a job with the Ministry of Magic." He lacked the experience to hide what that prospect meant to him.

"And if you had a choice?" asked Snape.

Ron's calm facade cracked wide open. "I don't, so there's no point talking about it." A moment later he had himself under control again. "Sorry."

He had grown up fast this last year or so, noted Snape with approval. It was a pity Potter hadn't done the same.

"It's no big deal. It isn't as if I particularly good at anything - except playing chess," continued Ron. "And in a few years I can decide what I really want to do."

"True."

Ron visibly bristled at having his ambitions so lightly dismissed.

"Ah, I see you're not totally devoted to the idea of self-sacrifice. I repeat, what would you really like to do if you had a choice? "

"If money was no object, the most useful thing I could do now is to copy Herrmione, leave school and concentrate on working full time for the Inner Circle. With the increased class workload, being a prefect and N.E.W.T.s homework there isn't nearly enough time to work on strategy."

Snape glanced at the parchment in front of him. "That much is obvious from the decline in your marks this term. The castle still needs a caretaker, a job which has always paid well, to make up for the obvious drawbacks. It gives you the perfect excuse to stay at Hogwarts - naturally, apart from a few visible patrols you'll leave the work to the house elves and concentrate on strategy. Later, should you wish to resume your studies, there are scholarships available to cover the costs involved."

"These scholarships. I'd be able to live off one - and still put something in the family kitty?"

"The terms are reasonably generous. You will, of course, need to discuss this with your parents. You're still under age. Should they agree, I would suggest that you let it be known amongst your more garrulous acquaintances that a reversal in your family fortunes means you have to start work. But it would also leave you open to ridicule from some of your peers."

"I can handle Malfoy with one hand tied behind my back," said Ron, who looked as if he had just been relieved of some great weight.

"Quite," murmured Snape. "Then I suggest you speak with your parents. Close the door on your way out, then send in the next victim."

"Yes. I just want to say...thanks, professor."

"Go away, Mr Weasley."

Ron grinned and headed for the door. "I've just thought," he said, before he opened it, "once I've officially left school, do I get to call you Severus?"

He had the sense not to wait for Snape's reply.

 

Charlie returned to Hogwarts that afternoon, just as the Quidditch match was starting; he looked slightly at a loss without Norbert, who was safe on the reservation, sleeping off recent excitements. A beaming Arthur clapped his second son on the shoulder and wasted no time in taking him to see Molly.

In the event Charlie escaped much of a lecture from his mother because she was drowsily nursing two additions to the Weasley family; Eleanor and Martha had been born when the panic occasioned by Norbert's arrival had been at its height. When Molly fell asleep mid-scold Charlie crept out to find Bill waiting to introduce him to the work of the Inner Circle.

"We're using Severus' library in Serpens Tower now he's moved back in there. He's pretty decent about allowing us to borrow books, just don't make a song and dance about it. It only makes him irritable. The puzzle board has been moved there too. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

One of the brightest of a bright family, Charlie applied himself to work.

"I'd no idea things were this bad," he said to Bill, as people began to arrive for the meeting of the Inner Circle in ones and twos, some of the staff still caught up in the aftermath of a more-heated-than-usual Quidditch match.

"Thanks to cover-ups by the Ministry, not many people do - except those who've taken the Dark Mark"

"And you're sympathizing with them because - ?" asked Charlie.

"Ah," said Bill. "You didn't get to the information about Percy then."

 

"Poor Charlie," murmured Professor Sprout, careful not to appear to be watching the Weasley in question. "I knew he would take the news hard. I always thought he was the most sensitive of the Weasleys."

"Not much of a competition," said Madam Hooch. "Fred and George always struck me as having the sensitivity of a bludger. As for Charlie... That damned dragon left our tower stinking like a midden."

"Don't exaggerate," said Professor McGonagall as she hurried into the room. "Thanks to the efforts of the house elves your precious tower is probably the cleanest it's been for centuries."

When general attention was on a heated discussion taking place between Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall Hermione edged closer to Snape, disconcerted to discover he was staring with rapt attention into the white-gold heart of the fire. Wary of startling him, she sank beside him on the low, wide footstool.

His head turned then, the unspoken welcome on his face all the reassurance she needed.

"I hope I haven't interrupted a train of thought vital to the war effort," she said, flippant to cover a wave of lust that came from nowhere.

"I'm just grateful to be capable of more than two minutes coherent thought at a time," he confessed. "Phoenix bliss might be astonishing - and I freely admit that I can't remember the last time I felt this well - but I still feel as if I have the attention span of a first year full of chocolate frogs. Where's Albus?" he thought to ask.

"According to Minerva he's still sleeping off the effects of the euphoria. She kept muttering something about his humming."

"Ah. That would explain it," he said cryptically, before he leant forward. "There he is! See? I thought I was imagining it. There's a salamander in the heart of the fire. He's eating that small patch of flames in the centre of the log."

She had never seen his face so unguarded, his eyes sparkling with pleasure rather than with malice.

"I've read about salamanders, of course."

"Of course," he agreed, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from a sharp elbow.

"But nothing I read said how beautiful they are."

"The living heart of a fire," he murmured. "I'll give the house elves instructions not to let it go out."

Ultra-conscious of the warmth of his thigh, flank and arm brushing her, she sat contentedly salamander watching, until finally the small creature scampered out of sight. Snape gave a small sigh but made no attempt to move.

Unable to remember seeing him this relaxed, Hermione hoped she wasn't about to spoil the mood. "I was hoping to have a word with you in private," she murmured. "I know you said we were probably better not discussing Harry..."

"Nothing has occurred to change my mind," he assured her.

"I'm worried about him."

Snape gestured to where the others sat in small groups, poring over books, debating points or frankly gossiping. "Allow me to introduce you to a room full of people who are 'worried' about Potter. But if his godfather sees no need to take Harry to task, forgive me if I can't summon up the enthusiasm to be further insulted."

Hermione scanned his face. "So you don't think Voldemort has anything to do with the change in Harry?"

Snape briefly considered the idea. "If he did I would have expected him to be in a better mood."

Hermione gave a dispirited nod. "The thing is... The other night I couldn't sleep so I was going down to the kitchen for some hot chocolate - Yes, I know we have house elves to see to that but sometimes I like to do things for myself, all right! - and I saw Harry wandering the corridors. He looked... He looked as if he was spoiling for a fight," she said quickly. "So I didn't say anything but I did follow him. Did you know the Mirror of Erised has been moved again? And that Harry's found it? The thing is, when he looked into it... Severus, the mirror stayed blank - and black. As if Harry was dead!"

Profoundly unexcited, Snape rubbed the back of his neck. "A more prosaic explanation might be that Albus has found a way to disable the mirror." To his relief she didn't ask if that was, in fact, the case.

"Thank goodness for that," she said gruffly, trying not to give way to the relief flooding her. "Only I thought..."

"While this isn't something you'll hear me say lightly, let alone often, you think too much." His quirking mouth betrayed him.

"You are in a mellow mood. Or stoned," added Hermione, remembering a couple of her parents' friends. "Muggle term for phoenix euphoria," she explained, when he looked puzzled.

"Muggles have phoenixes?"

Better understanding Minerva's frazzled expression, Hermione shook her head. "Never mind. So about Harry..."

"Do you want me to have a word with Black about him?"

"No," said Hermione with more decision than tact. "But you could speak to Minerva," she added, successfully wiping the smug expression from his face.

"It's time we returned to the others," said Snape, getting to his feet.

"That would be a 'no' then," recognised Hermione, undeceived.

Muttering under his breath Snape went to find Sirius Black, in the hope that an argument might clear his head.

 

"Where's young Harry?" Charlie asked Bill, more to take his mind off Percy than any real interest. "I would have expected him to be in a thick of things."

"Last I saw of him he was skiving off in the direction of the kitchen. He seems stuck in that stroppy fifteen year old sulk mode. His class work is appalling, when he bothers to turn up, he's quarrelled with all his friends and all Albus will say is that Harry has a lot on his mind."

"Anything to do with why Harry and Ron aren't talking?" asked Charlie. There was nothing like working with dragons for improving your powers of observation.

"I don't know and there's no point asking Ron, he just gets very tight-lipped and stern. I still can't believe that our ickle Ronikins is planning strategy for the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape," said Bill wonderingly. "And more, that they take him seriously. The lunatics are taking over the asylum. Did Dad tell you about Severus' plan to let Ron leave school and work for the Inner Circle all the time?"

"Mmn, though I'm not sure if I like the idea of him abandoning his N.E.W.T.s. That said, we don't seem to be making much progress against He-Who- Voldemort. And Ron..." Charlie gave a wry grimace. "He makes me feel old, Bill."

"How d'you think I feel?" said the eldest Weasley unsympathetically.

The two brothers exchanged a grin, then automatically rose to their feet as the headmaster came into the library.

"I'm sorry I'm late, my dears. A small crisis amongst the house elves. Ah, Charlie. You might want to apologize to them for the extra work they've been put to, thanks to Norbert. It isn't that they object to work but dragons and house elves..." Dumbledore shook his head.

Charlie looked guilty. "Of course. I was just wondering what can I do to help the work of the Inner Circle."

"Given that you only just escaped Voldemort's clutches in Albania, your mother has let it be known that she would be happier if you undertook less 'exciting' work for a while. And we really could use some extra help at school. I wonder if you would be willing to consider joining the staff at Hogwarts - on the same terms as Bill," added Dumbledore quickly.

"Sure," said Charlie, having resigned himself to leaving his beloved dragons behind for a while. "But doing what? "

"Assisting me," said Madam Hooch, tucking her arm into Dumbledore's. "If it comes to a battle with Voldemort it's likely to be at Hogwarts. The seniors could use some training in advanced broom work. Those on the Quidditch teams do all right, but the rest..." Her nose wrinkled.

"And Hagrid could use an assistant," added Professor McGonagall. "Not least one capable of curbing his enthusiasm for the more dangerous creatures."

"Right now I could use some help in thinking of an explanation I can give the Ministry to account for the disappearance early this morning of the two Dementors who guarded our gates," said Dumbledore.

"Does the Ministry know they've gone?" asked Charlie.

"If they did, I imagine I would have heard from them."

"Easy. Tell them you hadn't noticed because no one's been down to the gates. Everyone's been working too hard to think of leaving the grounds and after living in close proximity with so many Dementors since the beginning of September they can't expect anyone to be bouncing with joy."

"If only we could find a way to record whatever it was that Fawkes did to Severus we could play it again at a later stage," mused Hermione.

"But why would we need to?" frowned Madam Pomfrey.

"In case Voldemort ever tries to make use of the Dementors."

"He doesn't control them," said Pinchbeck.

"Yet. They're an obvious weapon," said Snape. "I've heard nothing to suggest that's what he plans, but the possibility should be borne in mind."

"Recording sound," muttered Ron, who was frowning to himself. "I'm pretty certain dad had a Muggle machine that could do that. Though it didn't work. No eklectricity. Lost now, of course."

"Electricity," corrected Hermione, a distinct snap to her voice. "How hard can one word be? If I bought a tape recorder is there anyway it could be made to work at Hogwarts?" she added to Dumbledore.

"I have no idea," he said blankly. "It isn't something I've ever tried. Or wanted to," he added reflectively. "I'm sure that Fawkes will be only too pleased to sing for us again, should the need arise."

"And if Voldemort kills him the moment he bursts into song?"

Dumbledore rubbed his long nose with his index finger. "I've never heard of a phoenix being killed. What is Severus doing?"

"Watching the salamander that lives in the fire," said Lupin.

"Sirius, kindly keep your comments to yourself," snapped Flitwick, when Black muttered something uncomplimentary. "They are neither accurate or generous. I would have hoped that even you would be capable of appreciating how much Severus needs to relax. We owe Fawkes our thanks for giving him this respite."

Chastened, Black muttered an apology. Flitwick was so easy-going that it was easy to take his sunny nature for weakness.

"I don't recall seeing much information about phoenixes in the library," mused Flitwick. "I don't know if anyone else has ever come across anything?" He glanced around the room and was met by a series of denials.

"There again, I haven't ever looked," admitted Dumbledore.

"But Fawkes has been with you for decades. Weren't you worried that you wouldn't look after him properly?" demanded Hermione, responsible pet-owning having been drummed in to her at an early age.

"My dear girl, you don't look after a phoenix," said Madam Hooch. "If anything, they look after you."

"Given the lack of interest shown for their well-being, that's probably just as well," retorted Hermione.

"Why all the fuss?" added Madam Hooch, her strongly marked eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

"It just seems symptomatic of the wizarding world's lack of interest in magical creatures," said Hermione, her voice flattened. There were still occasions, usually when she was least expecting it, when all that was familiar suddenly became foreign and she was left feeling as if she belonged in neither the Muggle nor the wizarding world.

"Where would we be without you to tell us what's wrong with us," wondered Madam Hooch tartly.

"Perhaps Charlie would be kind enough to better inform us about dragons," suggested Professor Sprout in the interests of harmony.

 

"...Of course dragons don't eat humans," said Charlie, who got over his nerves five minutes into his talk. "There's not enough meat on us to produce a good belch, let alone raise a flame. I'm not saying dragons have never eaten one of us, mind. Get a dragon hungry enough and he'll eat anything."

"So what do they eat?" asked Flitwick, leaning forward in his enthusiasm. He had always harboured a secret dream of being a dragon keeper.

"Anything they can sink their teeth into. Muggle animals for preference. Magic beasts give them shocking indigestion. If they have to they can go without food for months - though it makes them bad-tempered. As the reservations are well-stocked with food it's easy enough to tempt them onto one - safely away from Muggles. One Muggle on a Quest can wreck havoc."

"Quest?" frowned Madam Sprout.

"Would-be dragon-slayers," said Charlie shortly. "It doesn't happen nowadays, of course because we Obliviate the Muggles in cases of a dragon-sighting. The thing is...they can see dragons. Whether they're cloaked or not. For obvious reasons this is never been made public knowledge."

"St. George," said Hermione, with a grin.

"Murderous bastard," said Charlie. "In the bad old days, before the Ministry was set up to keep Muggles and Wizards apart, Muggles killed more dragons than attacks of the Flux and the Nobblers combined."

"I suppose dragons don't horde gold either?" asked Black in the squeaky voice of Pinchbeck.

"Pure propaganda from the days when goblins tried farming dragons for harvesting. The state of most dragons' bowels they'd end up melting whatever they were sitting on. Dragons have got more sense than to waste energy on something they can't eat. When the Dragon-Whisperers first approached me I read everything about dragons I could get my hands on. Not a decent bit of research in any of it. It wasn't till I joined the Whisperers and studied their writings..."

"Will they ever be made public?" asked Flitwick, looking wistful.

"Too risky for the dragons. We Whisperers like to kid ourselves that we have a relationship with our dragons but they tolerate us, that's all. Their race memories are so old that they've seen everything, many times. They have no interest in the doings of Wizards."

"Nil desperandum," said Bill cheerfully. "We'll think of something."

Black gave him a sour look. "Trust a Weasley to persist on looking on the bright side."

Rather than being offended, Bill just grinned. "I don't want to worry you but you're sounding more like Severus every day."

"Don't be provoking," said Flitwick. "Hermione, my dear, you've been unusually quiet."

"Always tactful, that's my March," murmured Professor Sprout to Madam Pomfrey, who had finally been able to leave the hospital wing after patching up various injured Quidditch players.

"I was just wondering how much misinformation might have been written about other magical creatures," Hermione said. "We have these translation spells, which enable us to read in most foreign languages. Has anyone ever tried to adapt one so we could communicate with...a unicorn, for instance?"

"I doubt if it ever occurred to anyone that they would have anything of interest to say," said Pinchbeck blankly. "They're beasts, not rational beings."

"And werewolves are...?" purred Snape, in the mood to make mischief.

Uproar ensued until Dumbledore enforced the peace. "One more word," he warned the various guilty parties. "Hermione, my dear. While the idea is interesting as an exercise, the notion that any beast could..."

"If we don't try to communicate with them, how can we be sure?" she interrupted, indignation blazing from her at yet another glimpse of the arrogance rife in the wizarding world.

"The Ministry," began Bill.

"Well, I don't want to be rude about the Ministry," said Hermione - those who knew her best held their breath - "but from what Charlie has told us about the disinformation about dragons and hippogriffs, we can't be certain of anything. If some wizards had their way Muggles would be classified as 'beasts' . It couldn't hurt to research translation spells."

"There are none," said Snape. "You only have to think back to how Harry's fellow pupils greeted the news he was a parseltongue to realise how well the idea of talking to beasts would be received."

"I thought that was just because Voldemort is a parseltongue," said Hermione.

"Not entirely," said Professor Sprout.

"Well, maybe Harry can..." Hermione turned to glance around the room. "He's not here," she said blankly, horrified that it should have taken her until now to realise as much.

"No," agreed Black with reluctance.

"And you didn't think that someone - you - should go and fetch him?" said Hermione.

Black avoided meeting anyone's eyes. "No."

"So we're all going to continue to pretend that we haven't noticed what an ill-mannered lout Potter has become?" said Snape.

Ron looked miserable and Hermione bit her bottom lip, but neither leapt to Harry's defence.

"Ah, I see we are," said Snape, his voice at its silkiest.

"Severus, this is hardly helpful," said Dumbledore irritably.

"I should have guessed I would be the one at fault here, rather than the perfection that is Potter. If we're to have any chance against Vol - The Dark Lord - we need to see things as they are, not as we'd like them to be."

"That's it!" yelled Ron, making several people jump as he leapt to his feet. "I knew there was something bugging me about Colin's camera and then Professor Snape..." Gabbling in his excitement, he was unaware that some of the best brains in the wizarding world were hanging on his every word. "Look, if the Veritas lens sees things - people - as they really are wouldn't it show Voldemort as he really is? If we understood that, we might find out how to kill him. The only problem is how do we get that photograph?"

One by one the members of the Inner Circle looked at Snape.

"Easy," he said. "I'll just asked him to pose for a holiday snap."

"Sarcasm is hardly helpful," Professor McGonagall pointed out.

"And your contribution to the effort has been what?" inquired Snape acidly.

"Children, please," said Dumbledore.

"Don't you 'children' me, Albus Dumbledore," retorted Professor McGonagall. "Life as your deputy isn't all roses. Anything but. You try to keep up with the Ministry paperwork, teach Transfiguration, and run a House - all while having to rearrange timetables every month to accommodate Remus not being able to work. And what thanks do I get - ?"

"Oh, hush, Minerva. We're all tired," soothed Professor Sprout.

" - a Death Eater twitting me about not doing enough!" Professor McGonagall stopped as abruptly as if she had been pole-axed.

There was a stark silence while everyone but Snape looked as if they wished they were a long way away and deaf to boot.

"Oh mercy, I never intended... Severus, I know you've borne the brunt of... I'm sorry," Professor McGonagall added stiffly, looking angry and ashamed in equal measure. "I don't know what made me say that."

"You're all tired. Perhaps if you were to take a couple of days leave," suggested Dumbledore. "It's been a difficult term."

"If Minerva takes a couple of days off, she'll be the one who'll have to amend the timetables. 'To nihil dices faciesus Minerva'," added Snape, in the closest he was likely to come to an apology. "Perhaps I could help with some of the paperwork. It would lend strength to the idea of my trying to supplant you," he added to her.

"But you hate paperwork," said Professor McGonagall. "You're still not yourself, are you?" she added.

Her lack of tact just made him grin. "Why be myself when this version worries people so much more? But the fact remains you need an assistant. An administrator who can beat the Ministry at their own game."

"What a splendid idea," beamed Dumbledore.

"But how can we afford it?" protested Professor McGonagall. "It's a wonderful idea but the school's accounts never balance as it is."

Snape shrugged. "I'm sure the money could be found from somewhere. All we need is a suitable candidate."

"Percy would be perfect," said Charlie, before he went red, got up and abruptly left the room.

Bill and Ron exchanged a glance and went after him.

"Poor boys," said Professor Sprout. "Albus, go after them."

Dumbledore took one look at her stern expression and went without a murmur.

Oblivious to the spat between staff members Hermione absently nibbled the side of her thumb nail. Her father had loved the James Bond films, more for the gadgets than the pretty women.

"This Veritas lens," she said slowly, "can it be adapted to fit any size camera?"

"Why?" asked Snape with suspicion.

"My father loved gadgets. Whenever we went to London he'd try and find an excuse to stop off in Mayfair - there was this shop that sold all kinds of surveillance equipment for spying on unsuspecting neighbours, employees, or business rivals. Some of the cameras were tiny. But first we need to know whether Voldemort would be able to sense Muggle technology."

Snape considered the matter. "I doubt if it would ever occur to him that one of his pure-blooded wizards would even think of using it. Or know how to," he added, having mastered years ago the art of asking a question without appearing to do so.

"Well, you'd certainly have no problem," Hermione said. "Wait until we've seen what's available. Then you'll know whether or not the idea's feasible."

"You'll need an escort to London," said Professor McGonagall.

"Severus will take me," said Hermione. "Oh, that is..."

"Thank you for remembering me," he said dryly.

She gave an unrepentant grin. "There's no point going tomorrow, it's Sunday and a lot of shops still don't open then. Could we go Monday morning?"

 

Black, who had been watching Snape and Hermione in low-voiced conversation, turned to Lupin. "Am I imagining things or is he tupping her?"

Lupin gave him a look of exasperation. "If you spoke a little louder Severus would hear and could tell you himself."

"Ah. Yes. Probably not a good idea. You've enough wolfsbane?" There would be a full moon tomorrow; true to his word, Lupin did not teach for two days on either side of the full moon, which placed further strain on the overstretched staff.

"Sirius..." His nerves always frayed at this time of the month Lupin made an obvious attempt to control his irritation.

"I know he wouldn't withhold it, really I do. It's just... Old habits," explained Black with a grimace, which looked all the odder when seen through the blurring effect of the Appearance Detracting Charm. "Though if ever I saw an advertisement for phoenix bliss it's Severus Snape."

 

"Now we're all up-to-date I propose we pause for supper," said Dumbledore. "Ron, summon a house elf, would you." He sent Bill and Charlie off to talk to March Flitwick and made himself comfortable in a crimson, wing-backed chair.

Conversation was general while the wizards made inroads on the supper the house elves provided, although a murmured request from Snape made one squeak with disapproval.

"Have you taken to abusing house elves in your old age?" inquired Madam Hooch.

"Worse, I want to make toast in front of the fire," Snape said.

"Buttered toast," mused Dumbledore.

Resigned, the house elves bought more supplies as Snape took down a battered looking bronze toasting fork from where it hung at the side of the hearth. The heat from the fire was intense and

Snape took off his robe and jacket, unfastened his waistcoat, removed his cravat and opened his shirt collar before drawing the footstool even closer to the fire. It was a mark of just how relaxed he was that he folded back his shirt sleeves without a thought.

"Budge up a bit and I'll butter the toast for you," said a familiar voice, in a tone that took his compliance for granted.

Snape shifted without comment, having resigned himself some time ago to Hermione organising his life as she saw fit.

"This fire is almost hot enough for an Ashwinder," said Snape, spearing a thick-cut slice of bread.

"Too hot for me," said Hermione, whose face was already flushed with the heat.

"Then take off your robe."

"I can't, I'm wearing trousers."

"A train of thought which might make sense to you but which means nothing to me."

"I haven't got the hips for trousers."

Snape's eyebrows drew together. "Nonsense," he said with authority.

"What would you know?" said Hermione crossly.

He turned to look at her, then gave the faintest of smiles.

"It's not funny," said Hermione, but she was shrugging out of her robe because her ladylike glow was fast turning into sweating like a horse.

"Indeed not," he said. Busy watching her instead of what he was doing, the smell of burning recalled him to his task.

"In fifty years time, thirty, if I'm really unlucky, I'll look just like Nana Hoskins - pear-shaped," said Hermione.

"I like pears," Snape offered, tipping a charred piece of toast onto the buttering plate.

"Pairs of what?" asked Hermione, applying butter with a liberal hand.

"Pears. The fruit. The shape." Snape bit into half the slice.

"If you say there'll be more of me to love, or that you like a good handful, I shall be forced to take drastic action."

"Credit me with some sense of self-preservation. Although there will, I do and feel free."

Hermione placed buttery fingers on his forehead. "You feel hot."

"That could be the fire," pointed out Professor Sprout, as she bustled over. "Severus, March and I would enjoy some toast if you're so inclined. I prefer my toast with less charcoal," she added pointedly, before she gasped. "Severus, it's gone!"

"What has?" Snape asked, looking up at her.

Professor Sprout caught hold of his forearm. "Look, it's gone. The Dark Mark has gone!"


	26. Chapter 26

TWENTY SIX

 

Still slightly fuddled by the effects of phoenix euphoria, Snape's memories of the next hour or so were always a muddle of raw emotion, of which fear predominated: fear that he had finally lost his mind.

"Didn't you hear me?" asked Professor Sprout, her normally mellow voice shrill with excitement. "I said the Dark Mark has gone!"

Snape stared at the unsullied flesh of his forearm.

"It's not there," he said slowly. "The Dark Lord isn't dead, is he?" He looked up at the semi-circle of people crowding around him.

"We have no reason to think so," said Dumbledore, playing with the ends of his beard. "I believe you must owe Fawkes an even bigger debt than we first realised. The only purpose of Dementors is to suck joy from the lives of those with whom they come into contact. Soul-stealers, they feed on everything we hold dear. Yet after a few minutes listening to Fawkes, perhaps less - it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the beauty of his song - and the Dementors literally dissolved. Without misery and despair there was nothing to hold them together."

"I think the Dark Mark was probably created by more complexity than that," said Flitwick dryly. "Even as a boy Tom Riddle knew his Charms."

Snape gave no sign that he had heard. More intent than a cat at a mouse-hole, his attention had returned to the pale skin of his unmarked forearm, as if waiting for the Mark to spring back into visibility the moment he looked away.

"Then we can only presume that phoenix euphoria at the level of sound induced by that Sonorous Charm of Severus' was enough to defeat the darkest of magic," said Dumbledore.

"There's one way to find out," said Madam Pomfrey briskly. "With your permission, Severus?" The question was, quite clearly, a formality; one hand on his wrist, she had already taken out her wand.

His emotions roiling, his control precarious, Snape rather lost track of events after that as his arm was examined by Poppy, then Albus, sniffed by Lupin and Black and checked again by March, their expert on Charms. Each one of them confirmed that there was nothing but healthy, unmarked flesh.

"It's true, Severus," Lupin told him earnestly. "You smell of yourself again, rather than of nothing." He tried to tamp down on a surge of envy; the darkness which ruled his own life and which, unlike Severus, had not been of his choosing, would never leave him.

"My dear, it's true," confirmed Madam Pomfrey, in an odd, choked sounding voice. "The Dark Mark has really gone. It's as if it has never been."

"Don't you understand," squeaked Flitwick, tears of joy pouring down his face, "you're free!"

Snape hardly seemed to notice his embrace, or the kisses from Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Madam Hooch; even Black managed a manly handshake.

"I never thought I would see the day when Severus Snape was at a loss for words," Black joked awkwardly, more moved than he cared to admit by the expression on Snape's unguarded face. He felt oddly embarrassed, as if he had seen something not intended for his eyes.

"Can't you stop, even now?" hissed Madam Hooch furiously. "Say one word out of line..."

"He wouldn't," said Professor Sprout simply. "This is a great day for us all."

For the life of him Snape couldn't stop staring at the spot the Dark Mark had occupied; the Mark which, one way and another, had blighted the last nineteen years of his life. Nineteen bitter, wastedyears.

"How can I be sure it won't reappear?" He refused to believe it was gone - refused to let himself hope. He had made that mistake last time.

"Well, as you won't be returning to Voldemort I don't see how the Dark Mark can reappear," said Professor Sprout brightly. She glared at Dumbledore when he failed to pick up his cue.

Snape just sat staring at his arm. "If I don't Albus loses all link with Voldemort."

In other circumstances the look of consternation which crossed Dumbledore's face would have been comical. "Ah," he said slowly. "That is a problem," he conceded.

Flitwick straightened at Snape's side. "It would be death for Severus to go to Voldemort without the Dark Mark. Besides, he has done enough."

"I couldn't agree more," said Professor McGonagall briskly but her eyes were shining. Even minor victories had been hard to come by of late and there was nothing minor about this.

There were murmurs of agreement from the others.

"We'd be throwing away a huge advantage if you sent Professor Snape back to Voldemort," said Ron slowly, as he thought something through.

"In what way?" asked Dumbledore, peering at Ron intently from over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"We're not really sure what kind of link there was between Professor Snape's Dark Mark and Voldemort, only that there was one. When Professor Snape went back to him Voldemort went to some trouble to personalise his Mark. Voldemort may have felt the Mark go, or he may know nothing about what's happened. But sooner or later he'll find out that he's lost his connection to Professor Snape. He'll be thinking of little else. It could keep him off-balance for long enough for us to work out how to kill the bastard. He won't know if Professor Snape is dead, whether the headmaster found a way to remove the Dark Mark, or perhaps even whether Professor Snape did. Even better, Voldemort's bound to wonder if his powers are failing."

"Which can only be to our advantage," said Bill.

"It sounds to me," said Charlie slowly, "as if we need to test someone else's Dark Mark with phoenix euphoria. Presuming Fawkes can be persuaded to oblige."

"You may not approach Percy," Professor McGonagall told him sternly. "Is that clearly understood? We all understand how you feel but it could ruin everything. It would be a different story if he comes to us."

"We could be looking at this the wrong way round," said Ron, nervously fingering his ear ring when he recognised Charlie's mutinous expression. "Maybe phoenix song at the level of intensity we're talking about isn't so much a destroyer of dark magic - evil, if you like - as it is the equivalent of a Veritas lens. Take away the darkness and there's nothing left of a Dementor. Perhaps the reason Professor Snape lost his Dark Mark is because he never was a Death Eater. Not really. Not..." Ron flushed and stared at the floor as he mumbled "...not in his heart."

"Sentimental claptrap. I think I'm going to be sick," muttered Black.

"Say it any louder and I can guarantee it," Madam Hooch promised him in a vitriolic whisper.

Flitwick had remained at Snape's side as an unlikely looking protector. Now he beamed his approval at Ron. "I believe you may have hit the nail on the head. I suspect that if Lucius Malfoy had been in that wood he would have emerged with his Dark Mark intact. I also believe there's a strong possibility Fawkes' song might have caused him considerable harm. Old manuscripts speak of phoenix euphoria causing madness. Imagine the affect on a mind if an evil individual is made to understand - in his heart - the consequence of his actions? I have always believed that if there was more empathy in the world there would be fewer wizards willing to main and torture others."

"Well said, March," said Dumbledore absently as Professor Sprout gave her husband a smacking kiss on the forehead. "But if Ron's theory is correct - and, like you, I see no reason why it shouldn't be - then phoenix song will reduce Voldemort to what he really is." There was a far-away look in his blue eyes.

"A dead man," said Madam Hooch with relish.

"No, I fear that might be too much to hope for." The sentiment sounded all the more shocking coming from the usually gentle Flitwick. "But take away whatever power Voldemort gains from his link with his Death Eaters, remove the unicorn blood, snake venom, the charms, and his link with Harry... His strength would be seriously compromised, presuming he has any left at all."

"Which would give us an opportunity to kill him," said Madam Hooch, her strange eyes glowing in light of the fire.

"We don't have plans, we have theories, ifs and maybes," complained Black.

"Three months ago we didn't even have them," pointed out Professor McGonagall.

"Hermione came to me yesterday morning, wondering if Voldemort might have held a private initiation ceremony for anyone in our current Upper Sixth," said Madam Pomfrey. "One to which Severus wasn't a party."

"I seem to be rather stupid," said Snape slowly, sounding as if he had been drugged. "You mean I don't have to go back to him?"

Professor McGonagall wasn't the only one who had to look away from the naked hope on his unguarded face as he waited for Dumbledore to reply.

"Never," promised Dumbledore, his firm tone giving no hint of his inner doubts about how they would manage without any link to the progress, or otherwise, of Voldemort's madness and its implication for the wizarding - and Muggle - world.

Snape just sat there.

And suddenly it was all too much. The years he had spent learning to mask his emotions, until even he had begun to doubt if he had any, might have been for nothing. Snape swung his head away from the eyes piercing him; kindly meant or not, he had no protection against them.

He concentrated on trying to control his breathing before he shamed himself by bawling like a baby in front of Black and Lupin. Lost in this most personal of struggles it was few moments before he became aware of the receding murmur of voices, footsteps and then:

"I'm really wanted to have a word about..." began Dumbledore.

"Albus, let the boy be," snapped Professor McGonagall. "This night most of all."

A door closed and Snape allowed himself to slump, although he knew he wasn't alone; he had lost his sense of Hermione when the others had crowded around him, edging her away. It was worryingly out of character that she should have allowed that to happen. He half-turned where he sat on the footstool to see her standing a few feet away.

"The others have all gone. I should like to stay, if you'll let me." She sounded uncertain, hesitant even, but the longing in her voice was unmistakable.

Odd that it should take something as simple yet complex as love to unman him.

Then she was with him, holding him fierce enough to bruise and he hugged her back, as though clutching a life-line.

 

The members of the Inner Circle were speculating wildly about the loss of Snape's Dark Mark as they headed downstairs, falling silent only when they reached the door at the base of Serpens Tower. Ron was the first to slip away.

Bill knew better than to tackle him about what had caused the rift with Harry; instead, he followed Professor McGonagall to Gryffindor Tower, waiting until she invited him in to her office, where they could be sure they wouldn't be overheard, before he asked if she knew anything about the quarrel.

"Ah. Yes." Professor McGonagall fidgeted with her wand. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some more tea?"

"Positive. You can tell me," Bill said easily. "I don't flare up like Ron. Insults to our family are nothing new."

"As I understand it - obviously this doesn't come from Ron - it seems that Harry refused to see your mother and was less than complimentary about the twins. Specifically about your parents ability to feed two more children," she added with obvious reluctance.

Bill nodded, although his mouth had thinned.

"There's worse," said Professor McGonagall, tired enough to need to share the burden with someone.

"Tell me. If I can help, I will," he said quietly.

"Yesterday morning I found Harry in the grounds when he should have been at a career guidance session with March. When I questioned him Harry said there was no point going because Voldemort was his future. And...and that he wasn't having some Goblin half-breed telling him what he could and couldn't do," she added miserably.

"He said that about March?" said Bill furiously. "I'll - "

"Yes, yes," sighed Professor McGonagall. "Now you understand why I haven't told anyone. You'll do nothing, of course. It isn't a conversation I want to hear repeated. For the sake of March and Ceres most of all. They would be...devastated - and not just because of the regulations forbidding the use of wands by all but wizards."

"But March - "

"Under current law he is categorised as a half-beast. As is Hagrid."

"I've worked for goblins for so long that I'd forgotten the law. I shall say nothing, of course."

Professor McGonagall sniffed. "The alternative never crossed my mind."

"We could have said the same about Harry."

"I wish I understood what's happening to him," she muttered worriedly. "This school year... He's changing out of all recognition. I've mentioned it to Albus but he's so preoccupied with Hogwarts. All he says is that it's a difficult time for Harry and that we must be patient."

"I suppose Voldemort hasn't got inside Harry's head again?" asked Bill.

"I managed to persuade Albus to check on that much. He says not, but these days maintaining the link with Hogwarts takes up nine-tenths of his attention. Harry's headaches have returned with a vengeance."

"What does Poppy say? I know when I was in the fifth form there was a fashion for smoking... You don't need to know the details," Bill said weakly, travelling from colleague to shifty-eyed pupil in the space of seconds.

"Oh, please," said Professor McGonagall, a smile relieving the anxiety on her face. "Why do children persist in believing their teachers are morons? No, don't answer that. Harry isn't smoking anything."

"He's never had a proper family of course. Mum never pulled him up on anything because he's had such a rough time of it and Albus..." Bill changed tack. "I suppose it isn't surprising if Harry is slower than most to mature. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. Teenage boys..."

"After fifty odd years of teaching there isn't much you can tell me about 'teenage boys'. The problem is that Harry isn't just any boy. If he's fallen prey to Voldemort..."

"We'll both keep an eye on him," said Bill, projecting reassurance.

"You really think it's that simple?"

"No," he admitted, "but it will give us a breathing space to find out what's really going on. I suppose there's no chance we could sneak off to Hogsmeade to get drunk?"

"None whatsoever," Professor McGonagall said with regret. "But I can offer you a gillywater."

Bill did his best to look enthusiastic at the prospect of drinking scented sugar water.

 

Snape never knew how long he and Hermione sat entwined on the low footstool. Long past time for his breathing to have steadied again. It was only as he wished for a handkerchief that he realised she was shaking against him, sobs racking her.

"Hermione?"

It took her a few moments to calm enough to reply.

"It's just...relief. I've been s-so afraid for you," she managed, in between hitching breaths. "Every night I... I never knew if you'd be k-killed." Her voice was harsh, unfamiliar, the raw emotion seemingly ripped from her as she was overset by every nightmare and every hope she had done her best to suppress during the last three months. But then she had never been half-hearted in anything she undertook.

The days and weeks and months of worrying each time he had been summoned had marked her more than he had appreciated at time. Towards the end, it had been all he could do to force himself to leave, let alone to have the strength to think of her - beyond seeking her out for his own comfort. The sounds of her grief hurt him in a way he had never experienced before but he let her cry herself out until she quietened except for the odd exhausted hiccup. Her face was streaked with tears and mucus, her skin was red-splotched and her pretty hair hung in lank strips. Unable to locate a handkerchief Snape dried her face with his hands, then took her in a loose embrace, intent on offering whatever comfort it was in his power to give.

She was shivering and shaking with reaction, her hands icy, her face hot and she seemed barely aware of her surroundings. Snape was appalled when he heard himself begin to murmur the sort of stupid, comforting inanities he had despised others for using. Because in truth it wasn't over, and they weren't safe. Life wasn't. Particularly while Voldemort still had existence. But the vacuous phrases seemed to soothe Hermione, who snuggled her face into his throat; her cold fingers locked in the bunched fabric of his shirt, brushing his skin through the places where buttons had been torn off by the force of her grip.

It occurred to Snape that there was an unexpected contentment to be found in such a simple thing as hugging the woman you loved, despite the cramp in his leg and the fact the phoenix euphoria seemed to have worn off. Then, because he wasn't accustomed to glasses that were half full, it also occurred to him that his position was uncomfortably reminiscent of that summer's day when Albus had asked him to break Hermione's unnatural calm over the murder of her parents.

He had taken on the distasteful chore, never expecting to find a friend in her... But then he hadn't expected to fall in love either.

His musings were interrupted when Hermione gave another unpleasantly moist sniff and began to fumble in various pockets.

Snape recognised that he was lost when his only reaction was to use his wand to sever a portion of his shirt for her to use as a handkerchief. It was prosaic and unromantic but it convinced him, as little else could have done, that this was real; that she was sitting curled on and around him, one hand on his shoulder, the other in the centre of his back, stroking him gently.

"All right?" he asked, although he already knew that she was. The shivering had stopped, and the terrible tension was gone, Hermione draped against him as if she was boneless.

Hermione stirred with reluctance, having been absorbing the living warmth of him. He was still too bony, but now he had the chance to heal, to rest... To live. She firmed her inclined-to-quiver chin.

"Sorry for all the drama," she muttered gruffly. "Me collapsing in your arms is the last thing you needed."

An expression on his face which few people would have recognised, Snape tenderly nudged lank spikes of hair from her eyes with his index finger.

"I think that perhaps this time together is exactly what we both need," he said slowly. "I never allowed myself to think what these weeks have been like for you. And I should have done. I'm sorry." He had always hated apologising but it was easy with Hermione because he cared what she felt about him, and because she had been hurt enough.

She uncurled slightly the better to study him, then, leaning forward the necessary few inches, she kissed him once, slowly and gently on the mouth, her lips just parted.

"Can we go to bed now?" she asked. "Only I'm so tired and you should be by now. I just want to snuggle up close and sleep for a week."

Snape paused just a fraction too long.

Hermione's corresponding frown gave way to a grimace of comprehension. "Bloody Albus," she said without heat. "I forgot. You gave him your word," she remembered, too tired for bitterness. One hand on Snape's shoulder to steady herself, she eased onto her feet, looming above him where he still sat on the footstool.

Snape looked up, feeling the chill now they were apart. "That was a mistake," he said calmly, waiting for sensation to return to his legs before he tried to rise. "My only regret is that I permitted Albus to interfere in something that doesn't concern anyone but us. And I shall tell him so when we wake up."

"But... Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly. The promise she had made to Dumbledore was as nothing in the face of Severus' need. If they only had an hour, or a day, she was going to make it count, binding him to life with nothing more than love and the promise of a future in which he could be happy.

Snape nodded, the gravity of his expression relaxing. "You come first," he said simply. "I was a fool to think it could be otherwise. Put it down to a lack of practice on my part."

"I don't understand," she said and it was then that he appreciated just how tired she must be.

"Being in love," he said wryly, this not how he had planned to make his first declaration. He gave a self-conscious grimace and hoped for the best.

"Oh," said Hermione. But the smile which lit her face moments later, even as tears welled in her eyes, made him feel decidedly odd. No one had ever looked at him as if he was...everything. It should have scared him to death.

It probably would, in the morning, but for now there was only Hermione.

On his feet by this time, he gently traced her jaw line with his thumb, then bent his head and kissed her forehead. "You looked so tired," he said quietly. "Do you want me to carry you to bed?"

Hermione gave an unloverlike snort of derision. "Up all those stairs? No! Severus, put me down! You'll strain something we might want to use later - besides, I'll get sea sick."

Hermione still in his arms, Snape paused in the doorway. "Nonsense," he said, just managing to control his breathing as he set her back on her feet. He hadn't appreciated how great a toll on his strength the last weeks had taken.

With the sense not to tease, Hermione tucked her arm in the crook of his; leaning towards one another, they made their way up to his bedroom.

With little interest in her surroundings she didn't linger in the bathroom for long. Using one of his white silk shirts as a nightdress she sleepily padded over to the bed.

"Which side do you prefer?" she remembered to ask.

"The left."

She slid onto the right side of the bed as if they had been doing this for years and waited for him to join her.

He was forced to resort to wearing one of the grey nightshirts he used for decency's sake when called out in the middle of the night on some school emergency; his preference was to sleep in his own skin under plenty of warm bedding. Suddenly losing his nerve, he postponed the need to make any decision by placing more logs on the fire and checking the shielding spell in place to deal with any sparks which might fly out. Then he dimmed the lights and in the eerie snow-light pouring in through the vast, floor to ceiling windows, he drew a chair up to the bedside and shrugged into a warm robe, in which to sit vigil over her.

It was then that he discovered she was staring at him.

"What on earth are you doing over there?" she asked, flipping back the covers. "Not that I really care. Just come to bed and hold me." From her tone he might have been the one doing her a favour.

Snape shrugged out of his robe, gave his nightgown a disdainful tweak and slid in beside her. He inhaled sharply as she wriggled closer and wrapped herself around him, her chilly feet leeching warmth from his calves. He would have made a token protest, just to establish he wasn't turning into a house elf, when he realised she was already asleep, one hand holding his forearm over her, as if to be certain of where he was.

Inhaling warm wafts of Hermione, Snape sank into sleep.

 

Hermione had imagined the first time they made love so many times. Obviously it was always spectacular. Sometimes their love-making was so slow she thought she might die of pleasure, at others it was graceless, with nothing to bond them but a mutual drive for completion - but always - always - it was ultimately wonderful. It had never occurred to her that holding a sleeping wizard while he breathed goose bumps down her neck could mean everything. And when he whimpered and twitched in his sleep it was her voice and hands which calmed him, without ever disturbing his rest.

She had been asleep, curled on her side with the warmth of him spooned against her, when she had stirred, woken by the sun flooding through the vast windows, the light intensified by the snow outside. For a second she had wondered where she was, before she felt him plastered against her, hardening against the curve of her bottom. Her breathing accelerated as she felt the first stirring of her body, even while she reminded herself that he needed this sleep. But her sense of him intensified with the ache to touch and be touched by the conscious man.

She gave a soft sigh, her hand sliding down over her belly, only to meet his far larger hand intent on the same location. Snape mumbled something in a sleep-thickened voice - it sounded like her name - as he fumbled with sleepy purpose; then, easing her leg forward, he parted her like a ripe fruit and slowly sank home.

Their coupling had been clumsy and not particularly comfortable; she was still quite dry, the angle wasn't right until she managed to move a little and he finished too soon, his face buried in the hollow of her neck, one hand on her breast. But she wouldn't have changed a thing.

Ironically, he had only seemed to wake fully as he slipped from her.

"Hermione? Oh, my - " Shooting up in a flurry of panic, he eased her onto her back. His touch was light and insubstantial as his fingertips drifted over her belly and thighs before delicately brushing her.

"Did I -? Yes, I did. Are you - ? Of course you're sore. I'm sorry. So..." He looked appalled and mortified in equal measure, and so worried for her that she stopped his mouth with her own, kissing the tension from him.

"It's all right," she said at last, cradling his worried looking face between her hands. "It doesn't matter."

"It does to me," he said, bruised vanity revealing the truth.

A little sore and frustrated she just managed to muffle her first snort of laughter against his throat but it spilled from her anyway. "Oh, I'm not making fun of you, really. It's just...you looked so..."

She wriggled until he was supine beneath her, his eyes wide and still worried, his hands gentle as they caressed her lower spine and the tender, sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"I mean it," she promised him, in between deepening kisses. "It might not have been perfect, but it was real. Though maybe next time if you could wake up before..."

She had been watching all the small muscles in his face relax, had seen anxiety be replaced by unwilling, wry amusement at his own humiliation. Now he groaned and looked at her from under those ridiculously long eyelashes of his.

"There isn't an ounce of mercy in you, is there?"

"None at all," she confirmed cheerfully, easing down beside him and fumbling for the covers when she realised she was getting chilly.

"Um... I didn't think of contraception or - " he began, serious again.

"I just had time to," she said, having decided that if she allowed him to brood they would never hear the end of it. She had begun to realise he had a tendency towards hair shirts.

It was only when she caught sight of Severus staring at her, a lingering disquiet still in evidence, that Hermione appreciated that his reaction was due to more than bruised masculine pride.

"I need to understand," she said gently. "Why has this disturbed you so much?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "Because I remember all too clearly what it's like to have no freedom of choice. I never wanted that for you. Least of all that I should be the one to - " He stopped abruptly and swallowed hard.

"I was awake," said Hermione.

Snape blinked, then turned to her. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm also a powerful witch. I could have stopped you before you got started. IfI'd wanted to. But I wanted you to make love to me. I was aching for you to. I'd been lying in the dark promising myself I wouldn't wake you up so we could make love. And I wish I had a camera so I could take a picture of your expression," she added in a different tone, cupping the side of his face in her hand. "I could make a fortune."

His relief nakedly exposed, Snape nodded. "I won't insult you by asking if you're sure but it means so much to know..."

"I can imagine," said Hermione with feeling, holding him tight until the wave of emotion which had shaken her was easier to handle.

Snape kissed her, his lips making small, slow forays over hers, as if he thought she might need coaxing. It quickly became obvious that he enjoyed kissing.

Hermione ruthlessly severed his nightshirt with her wand before straddling him. She smiled her satisfaction when she saw him visibly lose concentration.

"No," said Snape, with what he hoped was decision. "You're too sore."

Hermione leant forward to whisper in his ear.

"'I am like a jackfruit on the tree.

'To taste you must plug me quick, while fresh:

the skin rough, the pulp thick, yes,

But oh, I warn you against touching -

the rich juice will gush and stain your hands.'."

She watched the imagery work its magic on a man susceptible both to her and to words. Without warning and supple as one of the snakes he professed to dislike, he moved until she lay supine in the shadow his torso cast as he knelt above her, his bony face intent. His large hands slid up her thighs, thumbs homing in to slide back and forth, back and forth, dipping in and out until she was grasping the sheet, her face slackening.

"'You have bereft me of all words, lady.'," he murmured, before he kissed her - not on the mouth.

 

Her toes slowing uncurling from where they had been clenched, her sense of him was the next thing to return, even though he had eased from her. She could still feel the echo of their union, one again where there had been two.

"When you make amends, you make amends," she said, boneless with pleasure. "I must quote poetry more often."

"I thought you didn't like it."

"I could learn to love it," she said.

Flat on his back, his rib cage still rising and falling faster than usual because three months in Voldemort's company had taken a physical toll, Snape managed a "Mmn," of acknowledgement as he battled to keep his eyes open.

Hermione kissed the corner of his mouth and wiped away the moisture from the bumpy bridge of his nose. "I've always liked your nose," she said, following her own train of thought.

"Mmn," Snape said again. It seemed inevitable that she should be a talker.

Hermione licked her thumb and rubbed a mark high on his left arm, then gave an apologetic grimace when she realised it was the beginning of a bruise. He would be wearing more than one by tomorrow.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

Snape's head turned on the pillow, his face alive with sudden laughter and a tenderness that stole her breath away. "Never," he said simply.

"I'll remind you of that," she warned.

With a sleepy-eyed determination he crawled off their love-rumpled bed, gave a long, slow stretch and padded towards the bathroom.

As she watched his unselfconscious stroll away from her she realised just how thin he had become; there was hardly anything left of his bottom. Hermione comforted herself with thoughts of feeding him up on some of the wonderful puddings the house elves made, only to refocus to find him standing beside her, holding a sponge and a soft towel.

When she realised what he intended there was a moment when she felt embarrassed by the intimacy before she gave herself up to his care. Like Cleopatra with her hand-maidens she luxuriated in the attention being lavished on her - not least because she was realistic enough to know it was unlikely to last.

"I should return the favour, it's so much nicer than a Cleaning Charm. But I'm too comfortable and befuddled to think of one. I thought you would be asleep by now," she teased, as he slid back beside her.

"Me, too," he admitted with a wry grin. He tucked an arm over her and snuggled close. "But there seem to be compensations."

"Seem?" queried Hermione.

Snape pulled the sheet over her head.

 

The light had changed the next time they awoke, to hear the wind whistling around the tower.

His hair still damp from his bath, Snape ordered food while Hermione got ready. One of the plump, comfortable sofas drawn up in front of the library fire they fed on buttered toast and poached eggs and looked for the salamander in the fire.

Hermione licked butter from her fingers and frowned as she studied the mantlepiece. "Is it me or has that carving changed? They were entwined serpents yesterday and now it's a man and a woman - and if I didn't know it was crazy I'd swear the man has your backside. Who's the woman?"

"Ah," said Snape, a clementine half-peeled in his hands.

"Is that the 'Ah' of a wizard playing for time, or one who just got juice squirted in his eye?" asked Hermione with interest.

"It's the sound of me trying to avoid sounding like a romantic idiot. I didn't believe the stone-mason who carved the mantlepiece for me when he said the stone was charmed."

"Not hexed?" asked Hermione, through a mouthful of clementine

"No," he said, with a crooked half-smile.

Hermione slipped a hand between the folded of his silk dressing gown. "What's the joke?"

"I...um... It's romantic twaddle. Well, I thought it must be at the time..." Snape gave her a faintly bemused look. They had been together for under twenty-four hours and already it was difficult to remember his rooms without her. His bed without her.

"And now?"

Snape sighed. Best to get it over with.

"The stone-mason told me that the carving would change when I met my one true love," he said in a rush.

Hermione gathered up the folds of his robe, which she was wearing against the draughts, and padded over to take closer look.

"Before you start criticising you might want to remember that the other pair of hips are yours," Snape said into the silence, acid because he was afraid his expression was probably as fatuous as hers.

"Oh," said Hermione, half-turning back to him. "Well, that's all right then," she added gruffly.

"Yes," he admitted.

Hermione made herself comfortable beside him and helped herself to one of the plump brown figs perched on the pomegranates and oranges. Caressing it briefly, she split open the moist flesh and offered it to Snape.

She knew he had remembered when he silently bent his head to feed from her hand.

After one mouthful they were exchanging fig-sticky kisses, cushions sliding to the floor as they made themselves more comfortable in front of the fire.


	27. Chapter 27

TWENTY SEVEN

 

The unconventional hours she and Severus had been keeping had taken their toll on Hermione; just before four in the morning she admitted that she was wide awake and likely to remain that way. Severus was blissfully asleep under three-quarters of the bedclothes, with only some spikes of black hair visible above the sheet. She had already learnt that he was a nervy bedmate, starting awake at her slightest movement, and so she eased from the bed with exaggerated care.

He shoot up in bed, wand already in his hand.

Her heart pounding, Hermione had the sense not to move. "It's only me," she said, when she trusted her voice."

Snape returned his wand to where he kept it out of sight, at the side of the bed frame, and fell back against the pillows. "I nearly hexed you this time," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

"But you didn't. It isn't as if either of us have had much time to get used to this. Go back to sleep." "It seems..." He had to break off when he was ambushed by a yawn.

Hermione kissed the top of his head, drew up the covers and marvelled how fast he sank back into sleep.

Snow light enabled her to locate the robe of Snape's which she had adopted. After a quick visit to the bathroom she returned to warm herself by the fire, taking care in the placement of the logs she was adding to it to avoid making undue noise.

"Not sore then?" said a familiar voice as she rose to her feet.

Her back to him, Hermione gave an involuntary smile before returning to perch beside Snape and draw down the covers so she could see his face. "I suppose it was optimistic to think I wouldn't wake you again. Sorry."

"It doesn't matter." He reeled her in for what had been intended as a brief kiss. "Your nose is cold," he noted.

"Along with the rest of me. Move over," she commanded, insinuating her way back under the covers and only then pulling the robe off over her head.

Snape obligingly shifted. The alacrity with which she snuggled against him would have been more flattering but for the fact he suspected it owed more to wanting to leech heat from him than affection. He tucked an arm around her and only winced slightly when icy feet settled over his shins.

"Couldn't you sleep?" he asked, in what he hoped sounded like a casual inquiry.

"Yes, and I've had plenty. Unlike you, I haven't been sleep-deprived for months," Hermione pointed out, enjoying the reassuringly steady thump of his heart under her ear.

"You didn't answer my first question."

"I've forgotten what it was," she admitted. She was just wondering how tired he really was when he slid a warm hand over her torso, the side of his thumb caressing her lower belly.

"I asked if you were sore - although I already know the answer."

"A little," she conceded. "I intended to get up - before you distracted me." Her breath caught. "On the other hand..." she said, adjusting her position. "Only make sure we don't lose the covers this time - it's so cold that warming charms would be counter-productive. Besides, I can't really concentrate on charms while we're having sex."

"No? No," he conceded with a grin, when he saw her open her mouth - undoubtedly to puncture his conceit. "What?" he added, fidgeting when he realised she was still watching him.

"I was just wishing my eye-lashes were as long as yours," said Hermione.

She took advantage of him being off-guard to push him back against the mattress and slid over him with a serpentine move worthy of any Slytherin. Perched lightly over his midriff, most of her weight taken on her knees, she looked down at her prey. "Share and share alike. It's my turn to play," she explained cheerfully. Not that Severus looked as if he wanted to resist.

"Could you warm your hands up first?" he requested.

If Hermione's hands were cold, her mouth was not.

 

"Are you able to talk yet, or will you be conversing in grunts for while longer?" inquired Hermione, still pink and glowing with goodwill to most wizards and the one sprawled beside her in particular.

Snape reluctantly opened his weighted eyelids. "There's no mercy in you," he noted, sounding unsurprised.

"None at all," she confirmed cheerfully. She ran a finger the wrong way up the crooked line of black hair that ended just beneath his navel, then back down again.

"I haven't got the energy," protested Snape feebly.

"Oh, please."

His mouth twitched. "You could be right." More alert than he appeared, he traced her profile with fingers that smelt of them both, caressing her just parted mouth with the side of his thumb. "'If anyone asks you/how the perfect satisfaction/of all our sexual wanting/will look, lift your face./and say/Like this.'

"Merlin, it's cold enough to freeze the bollocks off a mountain goat," he added in a different tone.

In a touching gesture of unity he and Hermione inadvertently summoned the bedding at the same time, burying them under a generous supply of sheets and goose down quilting as clean linen shot out of the linen closet.

There was the sound of muffled swearing, followed by Hermione giggling.

They took their time emerging.

 

It was only when Hermione coaxed him awake that Snape appreciated he had fallen asleep again.

"It's nothing important. Just that I'm off to have a bath," she said. "I thought I'd wake you with a kiss." She nipped him where it wouldn't show and got out of bed in a distressing show of energy, quickly bundling into a warm robe.

"Go away," he groaned, before he opened one eye to see her loitering at the bedside. "What?"

"Is it all right if I help myself to your toiletries?"

"You mean you haven't been?" he mocked.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm looking forward to trying out the singing bubbles this time."

"They were a present from Albus," insisted Snape, looking sorely tried.

Hermione had the tact not to ask why he hadn't simply thrown them away. But the knowledge that he liked bubbles in his bath was almost as welcome as discovering he was a cuddler, though she had the sense not to gloat about that.

"Ah," she said.

Snape gave her a brooding look. "I won't have any secrets left."

"It's only me," she said, giving the reassurance he would never ask for openly.

"There's no 'only' about it."

"No," she agreed. It occurred to her that she hadn't seen him check his forearm since the members of the Inner Council had left them alone. The day before yesterday? The day before that? She resigned herself to having lost all sense of time as she absently tried to flatten the soft, springy spikes of his hair, which were still only about two and a half inches long.

"Did you just spit on your finger before your stroked my hair?" Snape asked with disbelief. He had tried to prepare himself for alien Muggle habits but there were limits.

Hermione had the grace to look guilty for a moment. "Though given all the other fluids we've been sharing I don't know why you're being so prissy about - " Belated tact made her stop.

"It's less the sharing than the sense of being five years old again," said Snape, making that rare explanation because anything was better than being called prissy. He manfully swallowed a yawn and did his best to look alert.

Hermione bent to kiss the corner of his relaxed mouth. "Go back to sleep. I'm off to look for the rubber duck."

Snape fell asleep still trying to make sense of that remark.

 

Snape started awake several times, only to relax when each time he heard the sound of tuneless humming emerging from the bathroom and more water being added to the bath.

She still sounded...happy.

He tried to remember a time in his life when he could claim to have made anyone else happy - let alone experience that emotion himself. It was all very strange.

He would be writing bad poetry next.

He withdrew his arm from under the covers and studied the pale, unblemished skin. But he didn't need that visual confirmation that the Dark Mark was really gone; he could feel that it had, relieved of some weight he hadn't been aware of carrying until it was gone.

He rolled onto his back and gave a leisurely stretch as he contemplated the thought of brunch, and Hermione - not necessarily in that order - when he became aware that the singing had stopped; water gurgled through antiquated plumbing.

In a surprisingly short time Hermione emerged from the bathroom. Snape tensed when he saw her over-controlled expression; he pushed himself up onto one elbow.

"I need to go back to my quarters," announced Hermione, clutching his old robe to her.

Snape couldn't think what to say for a moment, panic obliterating the ability to think. "I see," he said eventually. "Something you've forgotten?" Guards were visibly snapping back in place.

"My period," said Hermione baldly. "And I don't feel like Accioing sanitary products through the corridors of Hogwarts."

Giddy with relief, Snape remembered just in time that he must not smile. "It's been known to happen." He left the bed, yanked on a robe with an untypical disregard for the way it hung, and steered her towards the chair closest to the fire. "Come and keep warm. Lippy can fetch everything you'll need. I'll go up to my workroom. I think there are still a few bottles of Leniomensis up there."

"But it's such terrible timing," said Hermione, in something close to a whine. "And five days early." Braced for his irritation at best, and with all her lovely euphoria ground up by cramps, she felt hard-done-by and very sorry for herself.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Snape, in a tone familiar to any ex-pupil, but he ruined the effect when he tweaked the robe closer around her, smoothed it over the curve of her breast and briefly kissed her in parting.

 

Thirty minutes later, mellowed by Leniomensis, Severus' matter of fact acceptance of menstruation and the warmth of the fire, Hermione had left behind the pathetic phase as she was fussed over by an over-excited Lippy. Accustomed to the unobtrusive service of the Hogwarts house-elves, Hermione stared with disbelief at the breakfast table Lippy had prepared for them.

"I can't eat all this," she whispered to Severus as Lippy popped out of view again.

"She thinks you're too thin," said Snape, making inroads on egg, bacon, sausage, tomato, mushroom and fried bread.

"And what do you think?"

"That it's a no-win question which I'm in far too good a mood to attempt to answer."

"You're so sharp it's a wonder you don't cut yourself," said Hermione, before she groaned. "And now I've started to channel Nana Hoskins." She gave a faint squeak when Lippy reappeared with her coffee.

"Sorry," she whispered, when Lippy had gone again. "It's just... We don't usually see the house elves come and go at Hogwarts."

"Lippy isn't a Hogwarts house elf."

"Oh." Distracted, Hermione ignored her breakfast as she tried to make sense of Lippy's comings and goings at the other end of the large bedroom. "I think she's getting carried away again," she said, after a while. "Have you seen the amount of my clothing she's brought over from my quarters? There can't be much left there." "I doubt if there's any. It's her idea of subtlety. Very Gryffindor," added Snape with a disdainful sniff, before his expression changed. "I should have thought to do this before." He set down his knife and fork, took a deep breath, visibly concentrated for a moment, and said, "My home is yours." His hand moved in a small, descriptive arc.

It was his trace of nervousness which alerted Hermione to the fact there was something going on beyond the obvious. "You've already made that clear but... Is this a wizarding tradition I should know about? Muggle," she reminded him, gesturing to herself.

"I keep forgetting that," he admitted. "Yes, it is. 'My home is yours' isn't a meaningless platitude but a statement of fact. It ensures that everything I own is yours, to do with as you will. If you want to stay here - live with me in Serpens Tower - there is no more to be said. If you don't..." He stopped and looked so uncertain that Hermione couldn't stand it.

"I do!" she blurted out, before she made a recovery, of sorts. "If only for your library."

Snape nodded, seemingly unaware that he was smiling. "Which reminds me. I must introduce you to the books. There are a few volumes I keep locked away because they're so dangerous that I only consult them when March or Albus are at hand. Yes, I thought that would whet your appetite," he added dryly. "You needn't worry about the wards to Serpens Tower, my workshop or my Gringotts vault - they will all recognise you as they do myself now."

"Just like that?" said Hermione, as she tucked into her bowl of fruit.

"Just like that," Snape confirmed. "Wizards might take a few years to make a decision but once they have they don't like to hang around formalising it. It's another form of wizarding contract. It has the added advantage of cutting down on the need for lawyers. What do Muggles do?" he asked, mildly curious.

"Faff around," said Hermione. "How do I give you everything I have?"

"You need to understand the implications."

"Have I ever struck you as slow-witted?"

"I'm serious," he said. "You should discuss this with Poppy - or Minerva. Better yet, with March."

"You mean there's one rule for wizards and one for witches? I haven't seen any sign of it."

"But how much have you seen of wizarding society, such as it is?" Snape returned.

"Fair comment," Hermione allowed. "In Muggle society a number of women find themselves in abusive relationships - physical, mental, or both. But so do men. It's just not talked about so much. As if there's something comical about anyone being abused."

She looked so fierce that Snape wanted to kiss her.

"Our worlds aren't so different in that respect, although magical ability has probably helped to protect women. What?" added Snape, disconcerted to find himself under unblinking scrutiny.

"It just occurred to me," said Hermione. "I've never been afraid of you. Not once. Irritated, angry, furious, disappointed..."

"I get the picture," said Snape dryly. "But speak to March, will you?"

"Before handing over the Granger fortune?" she said flippantly. "Oh, all right," she added with a sigh.

"If you're not going to eat that bacon you could always let me have it," remarked Snape.

"You're welcome to it. It's gone cold. If you're ordering some more get some for me."

When Lippy arrived with their second breakfast Crookshanks was strolling behind her, his nonchalant air betraying his uncertainty about his welcome. He paused in his stately progress when he saw Snape watching him, then batted his large head against Hermione's calf until she fed him. Ostentatiously chewing bacon, Crookshanks stared up at Snape.

Unimpressed, Snape stared back. "Tell that animal to keep out of my workroom."

"Tell him yourself," said Hermione. "It's time you two met."

Kneazle and wizard gave her looks which begged to differ.

"Get over yourselves. I don't play favourites," she told them.

That got Snape's attention. "I'm in competition with a kneazle?"

"I was talking to Crookshanks."

Snape moodily crunched a bacon rind and wished he could believe her. Even more moodily he conceded that he was besotted enough with Hermione to tolerate that damn animal if he must.

"Severus, what's Lippy doing now?" asked Hermione, side-tracked by the sense of movement behind her. She had turned in time to see walls silently and smoothly being rearranged by Lippy, who was bustling around, making small, pleased squeaking noises.

Snape turned to watch. "Making you a dressing room," he said, as if it should have been obvious.

"But... She's rearranging Hogwarts."

"Yes? Oh, Muggle," he remembered. "House elves are always tinkering with the interiors of the building they occupy - not always for the better," he admitted, before he returned to his breakfast.

"I am never going to understand them," Hermione sighed, looking harassed.

"If you have questions, ask Lippy. Only you'll have to promise not to give her clothes."

Hermione glared at him. "Not a slow learner," she reminded him. She was never going to feel completely comfortable being waited on by house elves but over the years she had learnt not to obsess about it. Lippy was obviously happy in her work. "How long have you known her?" she asked.

Snape had already resigned himself to personal questions. "All my life," he said, pouring himself a fresh cup of cold tea. "Just before I was born my parents inherited eight house elves along with a rotting pile of a house in the Black Country. Unfortunately there was no money for renovations. When the Hall became too dangerous to occupy the house elves moved in with us. Given that our house only had eight bedrooms - "

Hermione liked the 'only'.

" - there was little to keep the house elves occupied, except rearing me. When I was eleven and came to Hogwarts my parents moved abroad. House elves need to serve - to feel useful - or they literally fade away. They came to Hogwarts with me and settled happily enough - in the main. When I was eighteen Albus persuaded them all to stay at the castle but Lippy pined and... When I finally returned to teach she insisted on looking after me. She approves of you." 

"How can you tell?"

"It's never a secret when a house elf is pissed off with you. You'll learn." A look of consternation crossed Snape's face when it occurred to him that wasn't all Hermione would learn.

She grinned. "Don't worry. I don't get sentimental about babies, so stories about how sweet you were as a little boy..."

"I was never sweet," said Snape, looking revolted.

Hermione helped herself to a spoonful of marmalade. "Somehow not a stretch of the imagination," she assured him.

"Once the rest of the castle has begun to stir I must go and see Albus," said Snape, without enthusiasm.

"To do what?"

"Tender my resignation. No, don't say it. While my only regret is that I permitted him to interfere in something which is none of his business, I gave him my word and I broke it."

"But - "

Snape picked up his large tea cup. "You're planning to unman me by saying it was your fault?"

"Am I supposed to be cowed into submission by that glare?" she inquired.

"I don't think anything could cow you for long. Don't change the subject. I have to do this," he added, after a moment.

"But where will you go if you resign?" Hermione gripped his hand, as if afraid he would vanish in front of her eyes.

"Nowhere. Albus can't possibly accept my resignation until Voldemort is defeated - we need everyone we can get. But he will undoubtedly have plenty to say on the subject and... I'd rather get it over with," admitted Snape frankly.

Aware of how much Albus meant to him, Hermione found the control to keep quiet, only to jump when Lippy appeared, her torso tilting backwards the better to balance the stack of mail for Severus, which included a number of book-shaped parcels.

"No owls? You'd better check if there's anything urgent," added Hermione, correctly interpreting his expression.

"For obvious reasons there are no owl deliveries to Serpens Tower. Advertising a secret tower would rather defeat the object. Ah, this is from Albus," Snape added, untying a parchment. "And dictated in haste, to judge by his syntax. He's been called up to London to see Fudge, which rarely bodes well. Last time that happened Albus was relieved from duty. He wants me to remain in Serpens Tower, out of contact with anyone other than the Inner Circle."

"There's nothing for it then, you'll just have to frivol. But you can read your mail first," she added kindly.

***

 

While Lippy went to notify her master of his visitor, Professor McGonagall made herself comfortable in front of the roaring fire in Snape's library. It was another bitterly cold day and this brief respite in the warm and quiet was very welcome - her Fridays were a hell of second, third and fourth year Transfiguration and always seemed interminable. She blinked as the mantlepiece smoothly changed back to the image of entwined serpents she was used to seeing.

As she tried not to speculate about what might be keeping Severus her eyes widened when she heard the sound of whistling, which stopped just before Snape appeared in the doorway.

"Good evening?" she said, making a question of it.

He was too nervous to recognise the affection in her smile. "I've come to lay my head on the block," he said, in the hope of pre-empting her.

"Are you sure it's your head we're talking about?"

"Minerva..." But his pained protest was relaxed as he sat opposite her. "Do you have to enjoy this quite so openly?"

"Of course I do. Causes for celebration are something of a novelty around here. Your week off has done you good. You look well," she added with fine understatement. If she had hoped to embarrass him she was doomed to disappointment.

"I am. I got Albus' owl."

"That's why I'm here. Fudge has taken the disappearance of the Dementors as a personal affront. I'm afraid Albus may be away for a while yet. Continue to stay out of sight. The governors are in and out of the school at all hours. Malfoy has already called twice - ostensibly to see Draco, but I'm sure he was looking for you. I've had house elves keeping an eye on his movements but..."

"Which suggests Voldemort knows about the Dark Mark," frowned Snape.

"It does rather, doesn't it. I must say, Malfoy's sneer isn't what it usually is. He looks like you used to after a particularly difficult night with Voldemort And Draco has been on edge since his father spoke with him. I've asked Sirius to keep an eye on him. Hagrid will patrol the grounds at night, in case Draco is planning to leave the school grounds. We're warded against intruders, not those seeking to leave the grounds."

"Meanwhile I sit here twiddling my thumbs," said Snape, unhappy at the reminder that his Slytherins were in the charge of Sirius Black - and what was almost worse, that Black was doing a good job under difficult circumstances.

"Not your thumbs, surely?" Professor McGonagall rose to her feet. "Don't forget, stay out of sight. Where's Hermione?" she added, abandoning any attempt at subtlety.

"Wondering where I've stashed the body?"

"Instead of wasting your time on sarcasm, you might want to concentrate on not whistling in the corridors once you're out and about again." With the blandest of smiles Professor McGonagall headed for the door, thought the better of it and returned to kiss him on the cheek. "Enjoy your time off. You can have the weekend as well. After that you'll be marking junior Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology homework," she told him, escaping before he could make his response.

***

 

Because Snape's style of commentary did not lend itself to that employed by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick or Sprout it was Hermione who ended up doing most of the marking.

"I wish I could believe this isn't exactly what you planned," she told him, sucking ink from her index finger.

"A cleansing charm - " he began, saw her eyes narrow and in the interests of harmony withdrew. It seemed the perfect time to retreat to his workroom.

Hermione sucked idly at the end of the quill and got on twice as fast without his distracting presence - it had been so long since Severus had enjoyed the luxury of free time that he had forgotten it wasn't a punishment; watching him prowl around the room had been driving her mad. Though it had to be admitted that he was proving to be easier to live with than she had expected - not that there wasn't room for improvement, of course. She was adapting to sharing a bed with a man who appropriated three quarters of the bedding, and who always fell asleep with his arm over her and who had come close to hexing her as he started awake. By trial and error they had established that he was less likely to hex her if she made no effort to be quiet.

She didn't mind the fact he spent longer in the bathroom getting ready than she did - not to mention the mess he left behind him. But if he didn't start taking her hints about keeping the lid of the lavatory seat down she would slam it shut when he would notice it most. Given that most of his clothes were monochrome he had an awful lot of them, at least the twice the amount she did. Still, now they had separate dressing rooms... Not that she was averse to visiting rights.

Sometimes she worried if she wasn't making herself a bit too 'at home' when she contrasted the neatness of his workroom with the sprawl of her belongings. She consoled herself with remembering that his study area was no tidier than hers.

But his mood was so good that she couldn't help worrying. Maybe she would be able to relax when they had survived their first argument...

***

 

By the tenth day of his holiday Snape was enjoying the chance to potter in his workroom, busying himself with replenishing some of the school supplies. His mood was further improved by the knowledge that Crookshanks sat scowling in the doorway, having found no way to breach the wards which kept him - and the drifts of loose cat hair - out of the room.

Oblivious to the fact he was whistling off-key, Snape collected the ingredients to make the Pepper-Up Potion.

"I don't want to change anything about your quarters," Hermione had assured him several times over the last ten days.

Fortunately he hadn't believed her.

After some of the most bewildering but certainly the happiest days of his life he hardly recognised the place. Serpens Towers echoed with the squeaky-voiced singing of an euphoric Lippy as she cluttered up his quarters with shabby Muggle artifacts; he had been relegated to the new, smaller North-facing bathroom; and his rooms were full of disquieting paintings and photographs of people seemingly suffering from Petrificus Totalus.

The paintings were the most difficult to live with. He didn't claim to be an expert but whether Muggle or witch the portraits painted by Hermione's mother were the worst he had ever seen. Not that he had said so, of course.

And his reward for tact above and beyond the call of duty? A tower full of Muggle tat - and a happy Hermione.

All things considered it was an equitable exchange, even if it felt as if those motionless eyes followed him wherever he went.

Part of the trouble was that he couldn't leave Serpens Tower. Snape had reluctantly admitted that he wasn't coping well with the concept of free time; he lacked the practice at filling it. Left without any demands on his time he felt edgy - as if something was missing. It had been several days before he had ventured up to his workroom, uncertain of the behaviour expected of a new lover.

Of being a lover at all, come to that, he reminded himself as he picked up the pestle.

The truth of it was he was scared to death of saying or doing anything that might drive her away. He wasn't used to being responsible for another person's happiness, let alone caring what someone else felt.

Becoming aware that he had ground the lace wings to near-invisibility Snape made a sound of impatience and started again. He had never really considered the realities of living with anyone, let alone with Hermione. He hadn't shared his quarters with anyone since his schooldays and excluding a couple of nights last summer it had been twenty years since a lover had shared his bed - and none of them had been for more than a night or two.

All things considered he thought he was adapting quite well on all fronts, he thought smugly. He hadn't actually hexed Crookshanks the night the kneazle had jumped on the bed and Crookshanks now knew better than to startle him awake or sneak up on him.

When he had time he might think about a potion that repelled animal hair.

Of course, there were minor irritations to sharing his living space. She drooled in her sleep - on him, more often than not - and her feet were like ice. She seemed to regard him as her personal hot water bottle - not that he objected to Hermione wrapping herself around him.

While she wasn't exactly noisy she filled the tower with life and warmth - and mess. Her possessions were everywhere - included the few areas designated as his own. She talked a lot, of course, throwing out questions and arguments and drawing him into the oddest discussions. Life with her would never be dull... She had an intriguing mind, even if some of her references escaped him. He was beginning to think he should have done some research on Muggles.

He would put up with all of this and more for the way she smiled at him, sometimes when she didn't know he was watching her.

Though quite why she should regard the position of the lid of the lavatory seat as so important...

Hence the new, second bathroom - smaller than the old one, and north facing, with everything in the wrong place. And he still didn't know why Lippy had banished him to that one. It hadn't stopped Hermione from muttering about that damned toilet seat, or from helping herself to his toiletries, or strolling into his bathroom to perch on the edge of the bath to discuss some theory she was investigating. Though that often had the benefit of her deciding to join him in the bath...

His toiletries smelt wonderful on her, although how she could have failed to realise that what she called his 'green' smell came from the soap and shampoo he used....

He wondered when he could tactfully reclaim the clothing she had appropriated - although it had to be admitted that she looked very fetching in nothing but one of his silk shirts. It almost made up for her sucking the ends of his favourite quills - not to mention ruining their nibs... Perhaps a tactful hint? Or he could just increase the size of his order from Flourish and Blotts.

Aware that his concentration wasn't all it should be Snape decided to abandon his preparations for potion-making and go downstairs to Hermione. He paused as Lippy arrived with the most recent copy of 'Potions Tomorrow'. A quick glance couldn't hurt, he thought, reaching for it.

Two hours later, mentally quilling a vitriolic rebuttal to a cretinous columnist, Snape headed into his study, busy checking on the final paragraph of the article which had so infuriated him. He was vaguely aware of Hermione's voice, just before he tripped over something and fell flat on his face.

 

When he was comfortably seated beside the fire in Snape's library Dumbledore gave a sigh of satisfaction. "Thank you, my dears. This is sheer bliss after all those interminable meetings. But thanks to Molly Weasley galvanising the parents we finally won agreement that the Dementors should be kept away from Hogwarts." He took a reviving sip of tea, stroked his long beard and glanced from Snape to Hermione and back to Snape again.

"Severus, I am the least curious of men but I can't help noticing that you seem to have broken your nose since I saw you last..."

"I said we should have called Poppy," muttered Hermione, looking harassed.

Snape could have groaned at her lack of guile.

"It was my fault," Hermione told Dumbledore. "It was an accident," she added indignantly, anticipating whatever witticism he had been about to make. What could be seen of his face beneath the beard grew pinker and pinker as he began to wheeze into his beard. "Albus? Severus, is he all right?"

"He's fine, more's the pity," said Snape callously. "He's just trying not to laugh in my face. If you must know I tripped over her damn kneazle."

Dumbledore fished for his handkerchief in a cascade of sherbert lemons while inwardly marvelling at the change in Severus. No one enjoyed ridicule or humiliation but Severus had always hoarded small hurts, brooding over them for months and years. This reaction was new. So too were the rolled up sleeves and air of relaxation, of course.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it's hilarious," said Snape with resignation. "Get it out of your system. I'm fine. We both are," he added pointedly. He hadn't appreciated that he and Hermione were touching until he unlinked his fingers from hers. Then, because he was damned if he would allow Dumbledore to believe he had any influence where she was concerned, Snape took her hand in a firm clasp. He glanced at her when he felt her thumb circle the back of his hand.

Dumbledore mopped at his eyes with his fuchsia coloured handkerchief, his half-moon spectacles perched on the very tip of his long nose. "Oh, my dears. To see you two together is a joy... I admit I was wrong."

"About what?" demanded Hermione, but she was poised for attack rather than defence.

"So fierce," Dumbledore noted affectionately. "I've known Severus since he was fifteen years old and this is the first time I've seen him look - " He paused but after years at Voldemort's feet Snape didn't even twitch " - happy."

"Sentimental claptrap," said Hermione, straight-faced, forestalling whatever Severus might have intended to say.

Caught mid-sip of tea Snape choked. He shared his glare between a demure-looking Hermione and Albus, who was twinkling away like a fairy light.

"You're supposed to be on my side," he said to Hermione.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" she asked but her smile was a private thing, uniting them against the world.

Dumbledore set down his cup and saucer and linked his long, thin fingers across his flat midriff. "I was mistaken - no, I was wrong - to try to interfere in your relationship."

"Yes," agreed Snape mildly, "you were."

There was an abrupt silence, during which Hermione held her breath.

"There's no danger of you making this any easier for me, is there?" said Dumbledore acidly.

"Absolutely none," confirmed Snape.

"Have a tea cake," urged Hermione, with more haste than hospitality. Before Dumbledore had a chance to do more than set it on a plate she added: "Much as I'm enjoying having Severus all to myself, he can't stay locked up in Serpens Tower forever."

"No," agreed Dumbledore, amused to see Snape looking pained at her lack of guile. "But Minerva convinced me that you would both benefit from some - er - time together."

"She was right," said Hermione. "But in that case you and Severus will have things to discuss and I should really see March. And Ron..."

"He has been looking for you," admitted Dumbledore, tactfully leaving it at that.

"Ah." Hermione glanced at Snape, who grimaced.

"Trial by Weasley. I can hardly wait."

"Ron's loads better than he used to be," defended Hermione.

"There was plenty of room for improvement," said Snape, unimpressed - and more nervous than he cared to admit. Not that he thought she would place more weight to Weasley's good opinion but...

Hermione, who was learning to read Snape's expression better just grinned and got to her feet. "I'll leave you and Albus to chat." But she continued to hover.

They had been together thirteen days. While she knew they couldn't remain in their cosy cocoon forever, the irrational part of her was afraid that if she left she would wake up to find the last thirteen days had been a dream.

Snape murmured something to Dumbledore and eased Hermione outside the library door. "It's all right," he said gently, stroking the tender skin behind her ear.

"I know I'm being stupid..."

"Irrational, perhaps."

"That was tactful of you."

"I'm hoping it will rub off," Snape explained. "Now go away. I want my house back and I suspect Albus will take some persuading."

When Snape re-entered the room Dumbledore looked up from where he had been studying the salamander.

"When can I resume my duties?" asked Snape without finesse.

"Which duties did you have in mind?" inquired Dumbledore, unfolding himself from the footstool on which he had seated himself to give a slow stretch.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Snape. "Let us be clear. I am head of Slytherin house."

"That has never been in question," said Dumbledore.

Snape nodded his satisfaction. "And I want my classes back."

"Yes." Dumbledore rubbed the side of his nose. "I was hoping we could reach a compromise."

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Failing that," continued Dumbledore serenely, "I shall have to make it an order. Even you must admit the improvement in Sirius' mental well-being since he has been kept fully occupied. For someone with no training in either teaching or potion-making he has done better than any of us dared hope."

"Yes, yes," said Snape with impatience. "He's also an animagus. Let Minerva give up her classes. She's been complaining about being over-worked."

"You aren't trying to claim you enjoy teaching Junior Potions?"

"I loathe it," said Snape frankly. "But it's essential I take the first years. I've never had a serious injury - let alone a fatality - in my class and I intend to see it stays that way."

Dumbledore seized upon the concession made before Snape had a chance to change his mind. "Very well. You shall take the first years. I admit there have been more explosions and calls on Poppy's time since Sirius took over. I presume you'll want the N.E.W.T. classes?"

"And the O.W.L.s. My pass rate -"

"Has never been bettered. Which almost persuaded me of the validity of your argument for the powers of terror. Rather than you taking back the middle school I thought you might prefer time to devote to S level students. Time isn't of the essence where they are concerned so the loss of this term will merely be an inconvenience. It would also leave you time for personal research."

Undeceived, Snape said, "And?"

"I should like you to take over all the Ethics of Magic classes for the seventh years. And perhaps the occasional lecture to the seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts class."

"On 'My Days as a Death Eater'? I don't think so. If I agree, the classes will be solely for the purposes of preparing the Upper Sixth for the realities of war. And I can guarantee that you won't approve of my methods."

"You intend practical demonstrations?"

"Of course."

Dumbledore sighed. "I was afraid of that. Very well. On one condition - you explain to Minerva."

"And Sirius, about my taking back - ?"

"I think I'd better explain to him. We're not ready for war just yet."

***

 

While Molly wasn't best pleased at the idea of Ron leaving school a year early, she was reconciled by the knowledge of how much Albus Dumbledore valued her son's opinion. Ron's pleasure was muted by the fact he had to lie to people like Dean and Seamus about his reasons for leaving. While he wasn't officially ending his school days until the end of term he was already moving some of his possessions into the suite of rooms on the ground floor which formed the official residence of the caretaker of Hogwarts, and which possessed some of the most complicated wards he had ever encountered.

"I don't understand why," he said to Flitwick.

"Argus was a constant target for childish spite, not least, I'm afraid, because he was a squib. Majolica set up the wards, of course..." Flitwick stopped for a minute, dabbed his eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief and took a resolute breath. "I've been maintaining them for some years. You're quite sure you've got the hang of them?" he checked anxiously. "Because that skin condition in the final hex takes months to clear up."

"Positive, sir. Thanks for finding the time to take me though them."

"Call me March," said Flitwick, beaming up at him. "You're doing fine work, Mr Weasley. I know this can't be easy for you."

Embarrassed, Ron stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe and mumbled something while staring at the floor.

It was something of a relief when Hermione arrived, carrying a basket of Chocolate Frogs. "Ceres told me where I'd find you," she explained, as they waved goodbye to Flitwick. "Here. House-warming present. Old Muggle custom."

"Up with Muggles, that's what I say. Have a look round," invited Ron, too full of pride with his first home to remember his unsuccessful attempts to find Hermione during the last couple of weeks. "After the Burrow it's amazing to have all this space to myself."

Hermione made all the right noises and tried not to notice all the signs of the previous inhabitants' lives. She did her best to avoid looking at the wall-to-wall posters of the Chudley Canons, wondering how anyone could stand living with all that distracting whizzing around going on.

"Are you sure you didn't suggest leaving school just to get out of studying?" she demanded bossily.

Ron flicked his wand. The images of the posters dissolved to reveal the puzzle board. "This is just a copy, of course. I've masses of notes to catch up on. Though I think most of that will have to wait until the Christmas holidays."

Hermione gave him an apologetic pat on the arm. "What does Harry think about you leaving school?" she asked, in a would-be casual tone.

Ron tensed, the strong bones of his long face becoming more evident. "I haven't seen him," he said shortly.

"Don't say he's picked a quarrel with you, too?"

"I'm not giving him the chance. If I see him I'll only go spare again. He said things. About mum. And the twins. Mum and dad have always treated him like one of us, you know they have, and he - I'm just glad mum didn't hear him."

"Harry loves your mum," Hermione protested.

"So calling her an old slag who has no business breeding children she can't afford..." Ron stopped, his lips compressed.

"Oh, Ron." Hermione gave him a quick, fierce hug. "Well, that settles it. Harry would no more say that than... Though I suppose he might feel as if his nose has been put out of joint, with your mum having to give so much of her time to the twins."

"You don't see any of us reacting like spoilt five year olds," said Ron, conveniently forgetting some of his private late night battles with the Ron who hadn't quite given up hope of being the first and best at everything.

"No, but then all of you have known you were loved and wanted since the day you were conceived - except perhaps for Fred and George," Hermione anticipated.

Ron thawed enough for a small grin; there was something reassuring about the old, tired jokes.

"Harry's view of family life is warped because of the people he lived with and the way they saw life - not to mention the way they treated him. Have you forgotten, it was three years before it dawned on him that he was supposed to give friends presents at Christmas, or for our birthdays. Even longer before he thought to take your mum something - "

"Bill always said Harry only did that because you'd nagged him," said Ron shrewdly.

"Never mind that. The point is, there must be something wrong with Harry. Voldemort..."

"Oh, no. You can't blame Harry behaving like the world owes him a living on Voldemort."

"Ron, that isn't fair!"

He pulled a face. "Perhaps it isn't, but the way Harry has been behaving these last few months..."

Hermione absently unwrapped a Chocolate Frog, which almost leapt out of reach thanks to her lack of concentration.

Ron caught it just in time, biting off its head before handing the rest to Hermione. "If you're sure you can manage it."

Hermione handed back the remains. "You have it. I'm starving. Come on. Let's find some real food."

"Where are you taking me?" Ron asked, resigned to being yanked along in Hermione's wake. In the bad old days that had always meant boring hours in the library.

"The kitchen. I can't think when my stomach's rumbling. I must have missed lunch while I was in the library."

Made welcome by the house elves, they were soon settled in a cosy corner.

"When - exactly - did Harry start behaving oddly?" asked Hermione, through a mouthful of cheese and pickle sandwich. "Only I don't remember much about the end of last term, after mum and dad were killed."

"He was all right then. We weren't much use to you then, I know. The trouble was, neither of us knew what to say, or how to help. Sorry," Ron added, looking a little self-conscious.

"Never mind that now. Concentrate, will you. Here, have this piece of fruit cake. I'll eat the cherries," she anticipated.

Ron picked out the cherries and set them around the edge of his plate. "It must have been something that happened early on in the holidays because he was hard work when he came to stay at the Burrow. Edgy, like he was spoiling for a fight. But then he was dead embarrassed by mum being pregnant. Half the time he could hardly bear to look at her."

"So it was something that happened between the end of term and Harry coming to stay. He never goes anywhere with those Dursleys - that's the whole point of him staying with them. Did he mention them having any visitors, like that ghastly sister?"

His cheeks bulging like a demented puffball as he coped with too large a mouthful, Ron said thickly, "He doesn't normally talk about his time with the Dursleys at all. This time was no different. He had his birthday, of course. But the only present he went on about was the one mum sent him."

Hermione blinked. "Your mum's! No disrespect, Ron."

"I know, I know. Jumper and toffees for birthdays and Christmas."

"You're sure your mum didn't give him anything different this year?"

"Positive. I wrapped and posted the parcel myself. Ginny had borrowed Pig so I had to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and use the Post Office at the other end of Diagon Alley. I got soaked because it was pouring with rain. Old Fortescue called me in to dry off and gave me one of his new ice-creams to try out. Though I wasn't keen on it to be honest. It takes a warped mind to think of putting beetroot in ice-cream. Why are you looking at me like that?" demanded Ron indignantly.

"I was just wondering why you could never remember your homework in this much detail."

"Some people are never satisfied. Hey, that's a thought! No more homework after this term," beamed Ron. "It was weird having to lie to Dean and Seamus and the others but I know leaving is the right thing to do. Since I started working with the Inner Circle... I don't feel as if I fit in at school any more."

Hermione nodded. "It's how I felt, too. Though it's no excuse not to do as much work as you can," she added severely.

Ron groaned and mimed snoring before an intent look came into his eyes.

"I'll walk you back to your place," he said. "You were out every time I called."

"Was I?" said Hermione vaguely. "How are the twins?" she added as they left the kitchen.

Ron adored his new sisters and the topic kept him going through the long walk.

It was only when they came to a halt that he realised they were outside Serpens Tower, rather than Hermione's quarters.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" said Ron.

"You can ask," she said. "Then I'll decide whether to answer you or not."

Despite himself, Ron grinned. "You sound as if you've been spending too much time with a certain grumpy bloke we both know."

"Define 'too much'?" said Hermione, bracing herself.

"Ten minutes, in my case." Ron paused. "Well, I would have said that a few months ago. But everything's changed. Unless I'm just getting used to him."

"That's lucky," said Hermione, aiming for nonchalance.

Ron gave her a sharp look, recognised her defensive stance and the expectation of hurt and swallowed all the things he could have said. "So it's like that, is it? I thought I must be imagining things. I just want to say one thing - to get it out of the way. If you ever need help - of any kind, for any reason - you come to me. Or if I'm not around you go to the family. You've been an honorary Weasley for years."

Hermione wasn't a huge fan of Molly Weasley and wouldn't claim to know Arthur but she managed to look suitably grateful. Ron's easy acceptance sank in a few moments later. It meant a lot to know she and Ron stood a good chance of remaining friends.

"Thanks," she said simply, her eyes very bright as she gave him a peck on the cheek. "I've moved in with Severus," she added baldly.

"Really?" Ron coughed and tried again, his voice returning to its usual register this time. "Great," he said weakly. The changes to their lives had come to fast that it suddenly felt as if they were all colliding - with him in the middle. "So everything's...all right between you two?" 

Her own nerves frayed, Hermione erupted. "Now you listen to me, Ron Weasley. If you think for one moment that I would ever discuss anything about our lives with - "

"Whoa!" cried Ron, holding up his hands in surrender. "That would be absolutely the last thing I'd want to hear about. Well, except perhaps about Malfoy and Trelawney getting it on."

"Thank you very much," said Hermione, looking cross.

Snape had been eavesdropping for several minutes - not because he mistrusted Hermione's discretion but because he wasn't sure what Ron's reaction would be to their relationship - particularly given his crush on Hermione some time ago. His concerns were forgotten as he watched Hermione's pink-cheeked irritation, experiencing an inconvenient pang of lust.

"Give over," said Ron. "I think I'm adapting very well. All things considered. You know, I can't remember ever seeing you look like this," he added thoughtfully.

"Like what?" said Hermione, her hand going to her hair.

"Happy," said Ron simply.

Snape was almost sure he had wiped all expression from his face before they noticed him propped against the door jamb.

"Mr Weasley," he said, glad to see he hadn't lost the knack when Ron almost fell over his own feet while standing still, "welcome to our home."

"That might be more convincing if you weren't blocking the entrance," pointed out Hermione.

"One step at a time," said Snape, retreating so they could enter.

"I'll just get the presents for Molly and the twins while you and Ron - er..." Unable to think of anything Severus and Ron might want to do together, Hermione hurried away.

"You know the way to the library as well as I do," said Snape to Ron.

Conscious of the sound of his own footsteps, and those of the man behind him on the stone stairs, Ron increased his pace and tried to think of something to say to break the uneasy silence.

"Now," Snape said, when he and Ron were in the library, chairs drawn up to the fire, "what was it you wanted to know, Mr Weasley?" He raised his eyebrows.

His face redder than normal, Ron ignored that provocation to take advantage of the fact that they were alone. Ignoring the invitation to sit he clasped his hands behind his back and squared up to Snape.

"It isn't for me to approve or disapprove of your relationship with Hermione but she doesn't have anyone left to look out for her - except for me, of course - and this needs saying. If you ever hurt her, you'll answer to me," said Ron. Despite his melodramatic choice of words a flat sincerity echoed behind them.

Snape eyed him thoughtfully. It was always disconcerting when an annoying schoolboy became a man. "Agreed," he said, after an unnerving pause.

Less sanguine than she had appeared about the idea of leaving Severus and Ron together Hermione had raced back in the library in time to hear that. Setting down her armful of presents, she released the breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding.

"You took that very well," said Ron, sliding his wand back under his cuff now that it seemed safe to assume Snape wasn't going to blast him into oblivion

"Didn't I just," said Snape with suspect affability. "I'm probably basking in the warm glow that comes from realising I can expect the rest of your family to lecture me on my intentions at regular intervals."

Hermione stalked over to stand between the two men before Ron had a chance to react.

"If you've both finished posturing you might care to remember that I'm quite capable of looking after myself," she said coldly.

Her stony-faced displeasure made Ron shift his weight from foot to foot. "Yes, but - "

"But nothing. I make my own choices, I deal with the consequences. Not that I don't appreciate the thought," she added fairly. "Would you mind going to find Lippy, I'd like a word with Severus."

Which, Ron noted, wiped the smirk off Snape's face.

Once outside the library, Ron paused. The sound of raised voices was apparent even through the heavy oak door. The noise went on for some time. When that was followed by an even longer silence Ron resolutely forbade himself to wonder what might be going on now and went to find afternoon tea outside Serpens Tower.


	28. Chapter 28

TWENTY EIGHT

Rather than sharing the sofa, Snape and Hermione were occupying armchairs on either side of the library fire. The atmosphere was spiked with tension, most of which was emanating from Snape, who sat bolt upright, with his arms folded across his chest, and wearing an expression guaranteed to sour milk at three paces.

Hermione, who had been fidgeting where she sat, smoothed her robe over her knees. "Well I think it's a good thing we've got our first argument out of the way," she said, with a trace of defiance. Though quite when she had become the guilty party...

"Do you." said Snape unhelpfully.

The only light in the room came from the fire; the dancing shadows did not flatter him. His scowl deepened the gouge between his eyebrows.

"The odd disagreement is inevitable. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. I expect there will be times when I'll be so furious I could hex you to Diagon Alley and back. But it won't mean I've stopped loving you. You do understand that, don't you?" Hermione checked, anxious because Severus still shied away from conceding that he might have feelings which could be hurt.

He gave her a look of disdain. "Yes," he said finally.

She wasn't sure if she was imagining the first sign of a thaw. He'd probably sulked for England as a child, she thought, exasperated. But given that he'd spent his first decade in the company of house elves... Not for the first time in the last few months Hermione wished she had spent more time honing her people skills and less on books.

"Of course, that was your cue to assure me of the same thing," she said.

Snape absorbed that. "Aren't there easier ways?"

"How would I know? I've never done this before."

Little by little tension was easing from Snape's face. "Nor have I. I didn't enjoy arguing with you at all," he added, trusting her enough to tell her the truth.

"Then we won't do it - very often," she added realistically. "Though you can't tell me Lippy hasn't lost her temper with you over the years."

His mouth twitched.

"I thought as much. And she loves you to pieces."

"You're not a house elf."

"If you think her love is blind, you haven't been paying attention. She loves you, warts and all. So do I. And it's how I want you to feel about me. It's how I presume you think about me. That's another cue," Hermione added, tart because even though his mouth hadn't twitched again she just knew Severus was enjoying himself now.

"I know five different potions to get rid of warts," offered Snape.

"You are the most infuriating..."

Snape looked wary when Hermione produced her wand, but she only used it to draw the large sofa closer to the fire.

"So we can snuggle up," she explained.

"What about Ron?"

She resisted making the obvious reply. "I should think he left some time ago. And if he didn't he'll have the sense to knock before he comes in. He's had enough shocks for one day. Now can we please have a cuddle?"

Snape gave her a speaking look but within a minute they were comfortably settled, his hand cupping the back of her head, fingertips carding the hair shaped into the nape of her neck.

Hermione made a contented sound in the back of her throat and closed her eyes. "I know this will sound ridiculous but I kept worrying that this - us - wouldn't be real until we'd survived our first argument."

"Why should you imagine that's ridiculous?" said Snape.

Those who didn't know him might have taken that at face value. Hermione gave his chest a light thump.

"Bastard," she mumbled.

He kissed the top of her head. "You are convinced now, I trust?"

"Mmn." 

For once that reply satisfied Snape. They lay together, the only sounds those from the burning logs settling in the grate and the rain slapping against the windows.

Then Snape spoke quietly into the darkness, his breath stirring Hermione's hair.

"'I am yours, you are mine. Of this we are certain. You are lodged in my heart, the small key is lost. You must stay there forever.'"

There was a short silence during which Hermione stirred and raised her head, searching his face. "You are the infuriating man," she said again, in quite a different way.

"You're the one who began the key theme," he pointed out.

She frowned her incomprehension, then smiled as she traced the memory - a quotation she had memorised for his pleasure.

They began to exchange unhurried, increasingly sloppy kisses, his hand warm on the curve of her haunch, her hand seeking him out.

"Keys," mused Hermione, as one by one she slipped open his buttons, pausing to kiss the bared portions of flesh. A sentence glimpsed in one of her mother's books seemed particularly apt. 

'I the casket, he my drowned key...'

Snape just sucked in his breath, his hands closing over the cushions before they settled, with some purpose, over her.

***

 

Hermione opened her eyes on Monday morning to find Severus sitting up in bed reading while Fawkes perched on the headboard, leaning forward at a precarious angle to preen the tufting black hair.

"Morning," said Snape absently as he continued skim-read the reports on the first years which Black had flooed him. One hand above his head, he was caressing the plump gold chest of the phoenix.

Hermione hitched the bedclothes under her chin, Accioed a robe and pulled it over her head, not minded to walk around naked under the bright-eyed gaze of a phoenix. Fawkes' attention remained on Snape as she left the bed.

"I'll leave the two of you to commune in peace," she said acidly, refusing to feel jealous of a bird. 

"Don't   
be ridiculous," said Snape, sparing her what had been intended for a brief glance.

"I know," she admitted with a sigh as she returned to the bed. "Particularly given what we owe him. Thank you," she said to Fawkes, smiling as the bird gave a blissful sigh when she found exactly the right spot to rub on the back of his head.

There was a soft rustling sound, the long tail feathers shimmering as Fawkes stretched, his wings shadowing Snape's face for a moment before the phoenix vanished as suddenly and as silently as he had arrived.

"I think he was checking up on you," said Hermione.

Snape nodded. "I mentioned to Albus that I hadn't seen Fawkes since the Phoenix bliss and losing the Dark Mark. What's that revolting smirk for?" he added, irritable as being caught out in showing concern.

"I'm just enjoying your sunny disposition," said Hermione, knowing his attention was back on the reports he was reading. "First day of school."

"Mmn." Snape had progressed to checking the results of the N.E.W.T.s class. His expression soured. "I can see I'm going to have my work cut out to get these dunderheads through their exam. Though Pinchbeck has done better than one might have expected." 

Practically a eulogy, noted Hermione. "You're not nervous about going back to teaching?" 

That caught Snape's attention and he gave a hoot of derision. "Do I look like a Hufflepuff? I should get ready," he realised.

Hermione was pensively studying her timetable when Snape re-entered their bedroom, smelling faintly of her bergamot cologne.

"Is something wrong? I thought March gave you an extension on that essay," said Snape.

"He did. I've just realised that I completely forgot my timetable - that is the detentions I was supposed to be supervising and the form exams I should have invigilated," Hermione said guiltily.

"I imagine we'll both be making our penance by way of extra duties for a while. Tonight I shall remind Slytherin House of my existence," said Snape.

Hermione gave him a fond look he was too preoccupied to notice. "Serves 'em right for being Slytherins," she said, giving a squeak of protest when Snape swooped down, his still damp hair cold against her breasts.

"I hope they give you hell," said Hermione, batting away his hand to rub herself warm with a portion of the sheet.

"They probably will," he admitted. "Order breakfast, will you? Lippy knows what I have on school days."

"I thought you intended to make a grand entrance and have breakfast at High Table this morning," said Hermione, watching with regret as favourite portions of Severus disappeared underneath layers of clothing. She had forgotten just how many buttons were involved.

"Mature reflection suggested it would be more fun to eat here, with you, then use a Chameleon Charm to lurk at the back of the Potions classroom and frighten the first years when they've settled down," said Snape with relish.

"You really are a bastard," said Hermione affectionately, keeping to herself the certainty that Ron would have come up with a similar plan. At that train of thought, her expression changed. "What if Harry turns up for once? He's supposed to be taking Potions for one of his N.E.W.T.s."

Irritated, Snape just managed to stifle his impulse to snap her head off. Was that bloody boy always to come first? But he was too much of a coward to put her allegiance to the test.

"It's just that I've heard stories - about his bad temper," continued Hermione, nervous because this was dangerous territory for them both. "And he's always hated you. Don't under-estimate him just because you remember the eleven year old boy."

It took Snape a moment to appreciate that her concern was for him. "I won't," he said. It was a timely warning. He hadn't given Potter a thought for some months. "But I still don't understand why you're allowed to worry about me while I'm not permitted to express even the most basic concern for your - "

"That was different," said Hermione. "That was you and Ron expecting me to simper winsomely while you two decided I wasn't capable of looking after myself. Now what have I said?" she broke off to ask.

Snape took pleasure in decapitating his hard-boiled egg with one clean stroke. "I was just trying to imagine you simpering," he explained blandly.

 

Hermione had avoided eating in the Main Hall, whenever possible; officially she was a very minor member of staff ('Just above a house elf, really,' Malfoy had said), and as such had to dine at High Table, under the gaze of former classmates. After a morning with half her mind on what the first years might be doing to Severus - which was obviously absurd because if anyone was in need of protection it was them - she was one of the first members of staff to arrive for lunch.

Ron, predictably, was already at the Gryffindor table. At his broad grin she felt herself going faintly pink and forgot to wonder where Harry might be. She took a seat at the side arm of High Table, her glare enough to send Sybill Trelawney in the opposite direction.

As the Main Hall filled with children she became aware they were fizzing with a mixture of excitement and fright, although she was too far away to hear what was being said.

She had almost finished her soup when Severus and Dumbledore came in together, the headmaster's arm tucked in the crook of Snape's, as if to ensure he didn't try to escape, while Severus...

Hermione couldn't decide what to make of his expression.

"What's all the fuss about?" she asked in an undertone, the moment Bill Weasley sat beside her.

"Good afternoon to you too."

"Never mind that. If someone doesn't tell me what's going on..."

"Severus used a Chameleon Charm to take his first year class by surprise. But his skill is such that... The entire school now seems to be under the impression that he can walk through walls."

"He'll love that," she murmured, her gaze flicking to the Slytherin table and staying there. The juniors were beaming with pride in their head of house and boasting about how quickly they would learn the technique, while conceding that it might explain why he didn't miss much. The middle school were visibly trying to remember which of their many misdemeanours he might have found out about, while the seniors said nothing at all. Hermione felt her pulse quicken when through a gap she glimpsed Malfoy's expression of baffled hatred before he thought to mask it. Goyle and Pansy Parkinson looked frightened, while Nott looked even more dangerous than usual. Crabbe and Millicent Bulstrode sat on either side of an amused looking Zabini. It took Hermione a moment to appreciate that all three sat with their sleeves folded back to reveal their naked forearms.

There was a clatter as Hermione's spoon slipped from her fingers. "Bill, did Severus let his Slytherins see that he - ?"

"Yes. He had the Upper Sixth for Potions just before lunch. Apparently he and Albus both agreed it was time Slytherins knew they have a head of house they can trust when Voldemort comes knocking. And to anyone - like Draco - who might have been told what Severus was, it gives the impression he was powerful enough to free himself. Which makes him - "

"- a target!" interrupted Hermione, so angry that her hands were shaking. "He must have known what he was going to do after he saw Albus and he didn't say a word to me." Her outrage was none the less for being expressed in a whisper.

"He probably didn't want to worry you," soothed Bill.

Then Dumbledore rose to his feet and lightly tapped his glass with the side of his spoon, the sound swelling as it moved out to the back of the long room. Silence fell.

"As you can see, Professor Snape is back with us again," he said. "Contrary to popular belief he cannot walk through walls, although I feel sure it can only be a matter of time before he masters that skill. My dears, I wish there was more to joke about. By now we all know of the dangers our world faces. Voldemort - Voldemort, give him his name, he deserves no title," he said, when horrified gasps swept through the room, "has been using his Death Eaters to attack wizards and Muggles alike. Few families have been untouched by the horror. Malicious gossip would have us believe that every Slytherin is a Death Eater, which is, of course, nonsense.

"The staff are united in agreeing that it is vital that each of you understands there is a refuge for you at Hogwarts, whatever choices your families may have made, or may make in the future. You are not bound to live your lives by their decisions. And to prove what we say..."

Dumbledore moved one thin hand and around him the staff at High Table rose to their feet, a puzzled Hermione prompted by an elbow under her arm from Bill Weasley. Dumbledore murmured something and the sleeves of every member of staff fell open to reveal their bare forearms. It looked absurd, of course, as if often the case with grand gestures, but it was effective in making its point as the staff presented a united front to the school - and confirmed that they weren't wearing Voldemort's Dark Mark.

For several seconds there was a stunned silence before the roar of sound travelled towards High Table. Pupils were on their feet, whistling and cheering. Hermione thought it was probably Blaise who began to clap, the sound quickly taken up by every table. She was about to start clapping herself when she remembered those with no cause to celebrate.

Even through the Appearance Detracting Charm there was no mistaking Severus' closed off expression, all trace of betraying emotion locked away. He had no thought for her, Hermione recognised with a pang, all his attention was on his Slytherins. The juniors were going mad with excitement; jumping up and down on the benches they were whooping and cheering, their seniors only a little more dignified as everyone let off steam. Halfway down the table sat Malfoy, his face pale as milk as he stared through the bodies of those masking Snape from his sight.

By the time Dumbledore, beaming hugely, had restored order there were three empty seats at the Slytherin table; Malfoy, Goyle and Nott had gone, and Pansy Parkinson was staring into middle distance, seemingly unaware of the tears sliding down her cheeks.

 

It was almost midnight by the time Snape returned to Serpens Tower, he looked exhausted.

Hermione put down the book she had been pretending to read and forgot all the things she had been rehearsing. "While you have a shower and pull on a warm robe I'll ask Lippy to prepare you some scrambled eggs on toast."

Snape sat pushing his unwanted meal around his plate. "Pansy Parkinson wanted to leave with them but she was to scared to go, yet she's terrified of staying. Poppy is keeping an eye on her tonight but..." He shrugged. "It would mean turning her back on her entire family, all her friends... And I couldn't say a fucking thing to help," he added tiredly.

Hermione knew how he felt and so she took him to bed and held him until he fell into an exhausted doze but neither of them slept well and both gave up the attempt around dawn. Wrapped up warmly, they sat by the fire and drank tea.

"It's going to be a difficult morning," said Snape, warming his chilly feet under Hermione's thighs. "We didn't anticipate what happened and we should have done. I should have done. The penalty of making speedy decisions." 

"You're certain they've left?" said Hermione.

"Positive. Because Hagrid was having lunch at High Table there was no one to stop them. Freya got outside into time to see them Apparate the moment they were outside the gates."

"They might come back later."

"No," said Snape, his voice flat with certainty, all the lines on his face back in evidence.

"At least it was only three. The rest are with you," said Hermione.

Snape visibly swallowed his first retort. "How can we be sure? There are likely to be more gaps this morning - owls were streaming in and out of Hogwarts yesterday evening like.... It doesn't take much intelligence to work out that bare forearms are going to be in evidence for some time to come."

"Which provides reassurance that we don't have any saboteurs living inside the castle."

Snape rubbed the back of his neck. "What if they change their mind? I did."

"And you came to find Albus. He won't close his door to anyone, you know that."

But at breakfast they began to appreciate how little they had known. The empty places included Susan Bones from Hufflepuff - the unanimous choice for head girl - three from Ravenclaw, and Lavender Brown from Gryffindor. And Viveca Sinistra was found dead in her bed, a potion phial and a letter addressed to Dumbledore on the small table at her side.

"Her sister and her family were kidnapped last week and she was told to give a contact information about Hogwarts' defences. The contact was Susan Bones. Except Viveca didn't know anything, beyond the obvious. Before Susan left she told Viveca that her family had been killed the day they were taken," said Dumbledore, before he sat heavily, the letter hanging limply from his fingers. "Miss Bones also gave her the exact details of how they died."

Snape tweaked the letter from his grasp and read it through twice, before crumpling it angrily and stalking over to the window. "Stupid bloody woman," he said harshly. "We could have - "

"Done what?" said Dumbledore quietly. "We're all vulnerable through our loved ones."

"She doesn't have the Dark Mark," said Hermione.  
"No," said Snape. "So much for our self-congratulation. It seems we have no way of knowing who our enemies are."

"I want to see the four heads of house in my office the moment school is finished," said Dumbledore, pausing to stare down at the dead woman.

***

 

Even the juniors were affected by the sombre atmosphere, many had siblings further up the school and while none had been affected no one believed that state of affairs could continue. But it was the identities of those who had gone which seemed the most shocking. Not the Slytherins, of course, but that Hufflepuffs...

Arithmancy classes were cancelled for the day, while Professor McGonagall sat muttering to herself as she tried to find a way to ensure that classes could be continued without the need to employ a teacher from outside. They would have to replace Viveca Sinistra, of course, but finding someone they could trust...

The idea seemed laughable, in view of what had happened.

Harry's absence from the Gryffindor table did not register with the staff until that evening; they had become used to it over recent weeks. The most obvious scenario to explain it was the most terrifying, and the one all the staff feared the most. Before panic could set in Winky reported that Harry was in the kitchen. From Winky's expression this wasn't the pleasure it once would have been.

***

Over the years Sybill Trelawney had perfected the art of wafting artistically through life with her far-away gaze fixed on her Inner Eye - which was why she attracted some notice when she burst in on Dumbledore's meeting of the four heads of house. One hand to the stitch in her side, the fringed ends of her shawl trailed behind her, glass beads from one of her necklaces dropping to the floor like particularly noisy raindrops.

"Headmaster, you must listen to me!" she gasped, slumping back against the wall for support. Behind the lens of her enormous glasses her magnified eyes were wide with fright and her mouth was unsteady. 

Dumbledore hurried over to her. "Of course I will listen, Sybill. But first catch your breath. Sit. Severus, a chair if you please." 

With poor grace Snape drew out a chair for Professor Trelawney not troubling to hide his contempt for her histrionics - until he noticed her grip on her wand was steady enough and became more circumspect. While Sybill was a fool about Divination she was a formidable witch when she chose to apply herself.

"I've seen a Grim," Professor Trelawney blurted out, theatricality abandoned. "Just now. A spectral hound. Heading for the lake."

"Snuffles must be visiting Remus. You probably just saw him having a run," dismissed Professor McGonagall with thinly veiled impatience.

"It was nothing like Snuffles," snapped Professor Trelawney, her gaze never leaving Dumbledore. "Headmaster, it was a Grim."

"I believe you," he soothed.

"Really, Albus," said Professor McGonagall. "It does no good to humour her like this. Good gracious, is she having a fit?" 

Slumped on her chair, Professor Trelawney had begun to rock backwards and forwards; her eyes unfocussed, drool slid from the side of her slackened mouth. Then she began to grunt - deep, strong sounds which had nothing in common with the wispy voice she normally employed.

"She's having a seizure!" exclaimed Professor Sprout.

"She's having a vision," corrected Dumbledore. "Quiet, if you please."

The disquieting noises continued for almost a minute, although it seemed far longer to those listening.

Suddenly, a harsh voice intoned:

"Under, over, side to side,

Harness four elements, 

Watch Hogwarts gape wide.

But find the One

To unite the Four and the Four

And Voldemort will be no more."

Sybill Trelawney stopped speaking as abruptly as she had started. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she sagged where she sat, then jolted, as if started awake, life returning to her face. Her fingers unsteady, she wiped away the saliva which had dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

"The shock... I must have dozed off for a moment," she muttered, but she looked terrified by this manifestation of her Inner Eye.

"You had a vision," said Dumbledore. He repeated the rhyme to her.

"It's a pity your Inner Eye hasn't got an Inner Ear that can produce more than doggerel," added Snape disagreeably but he looked as uneasy as everyone else.

Dumbledore continued to study Professor Trelawney. "There's something else, isn't there, Sybill?" he coaxed.

Her hair was coming down, the light brown strands streaked with white around the temples. "I don't want to," she said in a small, frightened voice.

"Sybill." Dumbledore held her gaze until she shuddered and looked away.

When she finally raised her head her face had slackened, her eyes fixed on something only she could see.

"'One of the Four will die in a flash,'" she intoned, before she jumped, as if someone had pinched her, and blinked up at Dumbledore. "I heard that," she whispered, obviously shaken.

Dumbledore absently patted her on the shoulder. He looked as if he might have a headache.

"How many fours are there?" said Professor McGonagall acidly. "Really, Sybill, I do think you might aim for something approaching coherence."

"She has," recognised Snape, willing himself not to fidget. "It refers to one of the four heads of house. The reference to the green flash is easy enough. Death Eaters have demonstrated their willingness to use Avada Kedavra on a number of - "

"Quite," said Dumbledore. Even the tip of his turquoise hat seemed to be drooping.

"Yes," said Professor Trelawney, as she fidgeted with her bangles. "One of you. I don't know who, or when. I'm never told anything as useful as the whole story."

It was the bitterness in her voice that made Professor McGonagall take her seriously. "Oh," she said faintly. "Oh dear." She sank onto the nearest chair, her hands held tightly together in her lap.

Afraid he would also betray himself, Snape swallowed his sarcastic retort.

The only sound in the room was the chirpy whistle of a tiny steam-driven clock on a shelf behind Dumbledore's desk.

His thoughts roiling, Snape looked up to see that Flitwick was gripping his wife's grubby hand, but his expression was resolute, even though tears were welling from his eyes.

"When - if - it comes, we will be ready," Flitwick said, sitting very straight.

"Yes," agreed Professor Sprout hardily, but her chin quivered as she looked at her lover of eighty-four years, and she raised their joined hands to kiss the knuckles of his left hand over and over again.

"Is that all you can say?" cried Professor Trelawney, on the edge of hysteria. When she stuffed a thin hand against her mouth her fingers visibly shook.

"'The bright day is done, And we are for the dark.'" There was a terrible bitterness to Snape's voice.

"Hardly helpful, Severus," said Dumbledore, "particularly when there is so much to be discussed. Thank you, Sibyll. You saw nothing else?"

It took ten minutes for her to confirm she had nothing else useful to say.

Dumbledore bent over where she sat, then slowly straightened, his expression one of regret before it faded to bland affability. "There now, Sybill. I'm sure your new lesson plan will be simply splendid," he murmured soothingly.

When Professor Trelawney left his study her far-away gaze was even more vacuous than usual.

"Well, Severus?" said Dumbledore, his voice sharp. "I know you disapprove of Obliviate but - "

"No one needs Sybill dispensing gloom and doom all over the place - particularly when it's obvious that she's actually had a vision." Snape was speaking faster than usual, as if trying to outpace his thoughts. "I must put my affairs in order. There's no need to share this news with anyone else. No point worrying them unduly." His gaze swept around the room but the other heads of house were paralysed by their own thoughts, their attention very obviously elsewhere.

"I agree," said Dumbledore mildly.

Snape looked again at Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who sat side by side, hand in white-knuckled hand, and abruptly he couldn't bear it. "Don't look so... We all knew it could only be a matter of time before my luck ran out."

"Don't be so eager," said Professor McGonagall, her face pinched and pale. "You know Sybill. Every Divination class she finds some new way to foretell Harry's death..."

"I'd forgotten that," said Sprout, a little colour returning to her face.

Flitwick blew his nose. "As had I. But this time..."

"Was different," confirmed Snape, his expression grim. His hands felt cold, his face hot and he wanted to blast a hole in the wall very badly. Except there wasn't time for that indulgence, there wasn't time for...

Hermione.

His stomach lurched.

"Perhaps things aren't as bleak as they might appear," said Dumbledore.

"If you're going to tell us to look on the bright side," began Snape, a hint of hysteria pushing through his calm facade.

"Never mind your temper tantrum," cut in Professor McGonagall sharply, "I want to know about that verse Sybill quoted. What - exactly - does it mean? It's obvious Hogwarts is going to be under attack."

"The One must be Harry Potter," said Professor Sprout.

"But who are the Four and the Four?" asked Flitwick. "I would have thought the four founders of Hogwarts..."

"And the four heads of house," said Snape.

"But how can the four founders...?" began Professor McGonagall.

"Harry has the blood of all four founders," Dumbledore reminded them.

"Wonderful. So how many of us can imagine Potter bonding with the four heads of houses?" said Snape but his voice lacked any bite. He was fighting the urge to destroy something. Anything.

After further discussion, during which there was a lot of pointless speculation and stifled panic, the four heads of house left finally left Dumbledore's office; they didn't speak amongst themselves, taking pains to avoid meeting one another's eye, as if afraid what they might see reflected back at them.

Because he wasn't ready to face Hermione yet, Snape avoided Serpens Tower to take refuge in the portion of the third floor that hadn't been used since Fluffy had guarded the Philosopher's Stone. It was bitterly cold, the air heavy with the dust he stirred but it was quiet, school life seeming a long way away. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his robe and paced with the relentless precision of a metronome, taking care to avoid the trapdoor.

The more he thought about Hermione the worse it got. He knew what he should do - what any puling Gryffindor would do - equally, he knew he couldn't, wouldn't, find a way to end their relationship. She deserved better than a lie, no matter how noble its intention. Of course, the obvious option was to say nothing. It freed her from worry and when... When he died...

Wasn't it just fucking typical, after all those years, tied to unwanted life by that oath James Potter had compelled him to make? Now, when he wanted to live for ever...

Snape's pace quickened but it was impossible to out-distance his thoughts and eventually he slowed to a standstill.

He should talk to her.

He just couldn't think of a way to tell her he was going to die.

***

 

Wearily eyeing the stack of parchments waiting to be marked, and willing to swear they multiplied when he wasn't looking, Lupin gave an inward sigh when he looked up to see Snape stalk into the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom, wearing the expression which was guaranteed to subdue the most unruly third year, and some of his colleagues.

"Professor Lupin, a word with you," said Snape abruptly. "Would you be good enough to let the headmaster know that I'm taking the evening off?" It had the sound of a challenge.

"Certainly," said Lupin mildly. "Have you a celebration planned?" Stranger things had happened, but not many. Of course, Hermione was obviously having a mellowing effect on Severus' temper but there was still plenty of room for improvement.

"You could say that. I'm off to Hogsmeade."

"Yes?" Lupin waited politely.

"To frivol," added Snape sardonically.

He left before Lupin could think of an appropriate reply.

Side-tracked by some unusually belligerent Hufflepuffs, who had taken exception to the jeers from some Gryffindors who had lost only one senior and so felt able to take the moral high ground, it was a couple of hours before Lupin remembered to give Dumbledore Snape's message.  
"Really, Remus," said Dumbledore, frowning over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Is it too much to have hoped you might tell me while there was still time to stop him?"

"Stop him from doing what, headmaster?"

"Encountering Alastor Moody. He and his Order of the Phoenix are in Hogsmeade, hunting a cell of Death Eaters who are supposed to meet there and he has never believed in Severus."

"Oh," said Lupin weakly.

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "I shall owl the Three Broomsticks and Hog's Head. I just hope the message reaches Severus in time."

 

Snape sat in a dark corner of The Hog's Head, the hood of his cloak pulled so far forward that he appeared faceless, staring into his second glass of fire whisky. The first had smelt appalling and tasted worse, so he had gulped it down. He could still feel the burn, his nasal receptors blunted by whatever had gone into what had been sold as Old Ogden's. 

How pathetic, he couldn't even get drunk because he didn't like the taste... Bracing himself, he swallowed the contents of the second glass and gestured for a third.

After an hour he had managed to down four and a half glasses because he couldn't taste anything any more. He couldn't feel much either. Except for the leaden weight of knowledge.

He would have to drive her away, make the break quick and clean, if ugly, so that when the end came...

He should have known that nothing this good could last, he thought, emptying his glass and grimacing as the alcohol burnt his throat on the way down. Still, it shouldn't be too difficult to go back to his former existence...

'I am a man with no ambitions

And few friends, wholly incapable

Of making a living, growing no

Younger, fugitive for some just doom.

Lonely, ill-clothed, what does it matter?...'

Wonderful. Now he was getting maudlin.

Sod it, he was fucking well entitled.

The thought didn't bring the sardonic satisfaction it once would have done.

He finally admitted that he had already made his decision and had just been putting off the moment - as if that would make it any easier. Without giving himself time for more paralysing thought he rose abruptly to his feet, tossed and handful of Sickles onto the sticky table top and headed out into the night. 

The moment the cold air hit him he realised he was in trouble, not least because he seemed to have lost the ability to walk in a straight line.

 

Lupin regarded it as a fine example of Sod's Law in action when Hermione rushed up to him just as he was about to close the doors of his quarters on the rest of the world. "Hermione," he acknowledged with resignation, hoping she couldn't hear the words of the song Sirius was singing in the bath.

"Have you seen Severus?" she asked urgently. "Only I can't find him anywhere and the Minister of Magic is with Albus and I'm worried that Voldemort might have found a way to get Severus - "

"No, no," said Lupin in reassurance, before he quickly brought her up to date.

"Severus has gone to Hogsmeade to frivol?" She gave Lupin a look of disapproval. "Have you been drinking?"

"Unfortunately not. But I took Severus to mean that he was intending to get drunk," added Lupin, unobtrusively flexing first one aching foot, then the other. It had been a long day and he still had more marking ahead of him.

"But he never has. Got drunk, I mean. Because of his ability to do wandless magic."

"Ah. Then he must be found. Albus told me that Alastor Moody is in Hogsmeade hunting for a cell of Death Eaters he believes is there. Severus could find himself caught between - "

"Excuse me," said Hermione, with poorly concealed impatience, "you're in my way."

Lupin automatically stepped aside with a murmured apology, then realised what she proposed and caught hold of her wrist. "You can't go."

Hermione freed herself with a supple twist. "Don't be ridiculous. If he is drunk I'm the one person with a chance of getting through to him." Then she was gone, racing down the corridor.

Left feeling tired and middle-aged, Lupin stared pensively at the space Hermione had occupied. 

 

Bound fast, the thump of blood in his ears meant that it was a moment before Snape recognised that the voice growling threats in his ear belonged to Alastor Moody rather than Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh, no, m'bucko. One way or another I mean to know all your secrets this time," Moody promised, his breath hot against Snape's face as he muttered an unfamiliar hex.

That was Snape's last coherent thought for some time. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, the muscles of his face slackening as he crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose string had been cut.

 

It was only when she got lost in a narrow alleyway that stank of urine and vomit that Hermione discovered she didn't know Hogsmeade at all - but then she had never visited it alone, or late at night. She had never realised how big the village was, or how confusing its geography once you strayed from the High Street. Myriad alleyways twisted off in every direction, curving and looping back on themselves until she had lost all sense of direction.

Unlike the picturesque cottages which lined the main street, sitting snugly between the smart-looking shops, here the buildings were all residential; squat and so ancient that the walls bulged in the most disconcerting fashion, to the point where she began to wonder if some of them might be sentient.

She had drawn a blank at the Three Broomsticks and had been heading towards the Hog's Head when she had been accosted by a group of drunken wizards. Drunks were tedious at the best of times, drunken wizards the worst of the lot; Muggle or wizard, they could be dangerous. Hermione had retreated into the first alley she came to, fleeing down it when it seemed as if the drunks were about to follow her. Once she was out of sight she pulled on the Invisibility Cloak she had 'borrowed' from Harry. She felt a new surge of guilt about having taken it without permission but even at its worst the guilt hadn't been enough to stop her from taking the cloak. Besides, most of the guilt had worn off by the time she finally gained access to the boys' side of Gryffindor Tower and located Harry's small cubicle without being seen.

It took her three attempts to light the Hand of Glory, which Harry had given her for Christmas two years ago. The gruesome associations with its name had put her off using it but she was glad of its light now. Mud-splashed and shivering with fright, she wondered how to get back to the High Street; she had never made a study of tracking spells. Without warning, the alleyway came to an end. Instead of buildings leaning together over a wet, noisome surface, there was just tussocky grass leading up to a small hill topped with outcrops of rock and some wind-twisted saplings.

Sliding down two steps for every three she took, she was halfway up the hill when she heard a cut-off cry - someone was in pain.

She never remembered how she reached the summit, only of peering out from behind a jagged outcrop of granite.

There were all kinds of cliches to describe anger but when she realised Alastor Moody was torturing Severus she operated at a level of rage she had never experienced before. From Severus' vacant expression he had been hit with some twisted variation of Confundus; his mouth slack, face devoid of any hint of his sharp intelligence, he grunted and twitched every time Moody moved and Hermione realised Moody was kicking Severus, who lay curled in a ball, his knees up to protect his genitals.

"Where are they, you bastard? You might be able to fool Albus Dumbledore but you'll not fool me," said Moody in his gravelly voice. "We know there's a Death Eater cell holed up in Hogsmeade. Odds are, you're heading it. One way or another I'll get the truth out of you." He muttered something Hermione could not hear and Snape arched, the tendons of his throat starkly defined as he cried out before the sound was abruptly cut off - presumably by another hex.

Hermione knew she would have seconds at best. Oddly enough, her mind seemed to be working overtime as she cobbled together lessons learnt from March and Freya: disarm, disable and disengage. Avoid the obvious hexes because the enemy will have had too much practice at countering them.

So she made a two-pronged attack, going for Moody's magical eye and his wooden leg. Moody let out a howl of rage, then fell as his leg disintegrated in a puff of galloping dry rot. By that time Hermione had his wand clutched in her spare hand. His small dark eye widened as he felt the Engorgement Charm, although his magical eye had yet to recover from the brilliant light she had focussed on it to blind him for those vital few seconds.

"I'm Hermione Granger, friend of the Boy Who Lived. And I won't hurt you if I don't have to," she said, her voice high and tight with tension. "Severus Snape is a friend to both of us. And Harry looks after his friends. You spent too long in that trunk. Your mind's gone."

She could feel Moody's power roiling around her but her hours of study and hours of duelling, combined with the terror of what might become of Severus meant she didn't falter. She daren't.

"Snape's a Death Eater," growled Moody, glaring just beyond where she really stood. "Take off that Invisibility Cloak, girlie. I can see you anyway."

"Not until your magic eye starts working again you can't," Hermione said calmly. "What have you done to...Professor Snape?"

"Harry's no friend of Snape's. He can't stand the bugger."

"Couldn't," corrected Hermione. "Release him, or I might forget how to control my wand..."

"You're a Gryffindor."

"After six years as Harry's best friend I'm a survivor," she said grimly, trying to use language he would understand. "Release him. Then you can explain why the wizard you claim is a Death Eater isn't wearing the Dark Mark, as he demonstrated to the whole of Hogwarts yesterday. Not to mention the fact Albus Dumbledore will vouch for him and the fact Professor Snape has been working as a spy for the last twenty years."

"Oh, I'm sure he's a spy. Just as I'm sure whose side he's really on."

It was then that Hermione lost her temper. The young sapling closest to Moody exploded, peppering him with splinters.

He ducked and swore as some penetrated his defensive charm.

"Bugger it, girl, that hurt!" he complained.

"Release Professor Snape," said Hermione, hoping her charm had protected Severus from the fallout.

"I'll need my wand to do that."

"Rubbish," said Hermione briskly. 

Moody's scowl intensified but Hermione realised he had released Severus when Snape went limp and slumped in the mud. While his breathing was still ragged there was already the beginning of expression returning to his face, even if was a display of physical discomfort.

Hermione kept the focus of her attention on Moody as she fumbled for Snape's arm. Severing the cloth, she held up his bare forearm. "See? No Mark."

"I don't believe it," muttered Moody, dragging himself across the ground so he could see for himself. "You've found a way to hide it from sight."

"And from Albus Dumbledore?" Hermione returned.

Moody began to mutter under his breath. "I'll be sending you the bill for a new leg - and just when I'd got one that one trained. Not bad work though, girlie. Not bad at all." There was a grudging respect in his voice and what might have been approval on his face. 

Hermione trusted neither and so was braced for his attack, which came before he stopped speaking. She countered the three hexes he threw at her, before encircling him in a variation of the Containment Charm March had taught her, and which had taken her six weeks of practising to master.

"Now, this is new," acknowledged Moody, disconcerting Hermione by sounding no more than philosophical. "That'll teach me to under-estimate a slip of a girl. Who came up with that? Albus? No. He claims he doesn't have time to innovate these days. My money's on March. Oh, put your wand down, girlie. Though you've got some small talent... You've been working with Freya Hooch. She's always favoured going straight for the bollocks." His magical eye was working again, its rolling sweep making her feeling vaguely queasy.

"Show me Professor Snape's Dark Mark," insisted Hermione, refusing to relax her concentration. But the glance which was all she dared spare Severus showed that dreadful slackness draining away as the twisted Confundus continued to wear off.

"Well, give me some light then. Just don't go dazzling my magic eye this time."

Hermione's mouth tightened, but she bathed the three of them in a mellow light.

Moody studied Snape's forearms for what seemed like forever.

"Well I'll be buggered," he said blankly, sitting back, his stump sticking up at an odd angle. "When I interrogated Snape nineteen years ago..."

"Did you see it then?" demanded Hermione, taking a calculated risk.

Moody waved that irrelevance aside with an impatient hand. "It was there...in his mind. He reeked of guilt... Just because I didn't see the physical proof doesn't mean it wasn't - isn't - there."

"Albus will tell you it isn't. You owe Professor Snape an apology."

"I owe him nothing," retorted Moody. Apologising for torturing prisoners had never been part of his remit, besides, he'd never sunk to the depths of the Death Eaters. Never. "You don't know what you're doing, girlie."

"Call me 'girlie' once more time and I can guarantee your testicles will explode," she said flatly. "As it is, I don't envy you when I tell Albus you've been torturing Professor Snape for no better reason than the fact you don't like him."

"I'll be having a few words to say to Albus myself," growled Moody. "What am I supposed to do for a leg?"

"You're a wizard, transfigure one."

A heartbeat later he had breached the Containment Charm, thanks to her loss of control, reclaimed his wand and was back on his feet, leaning on the crutch he had transfigured, from a broken off branch of another sycamore sapling.

Her hands shaking, Hermione stared at him white-faced. It seemed impossible that anyone could be that fast...

"You're lucky I'm not quite as crazy as you think," Moody told her in a different, saner sounding, voice. "And you, you bastard..." he glared at Snape, who had just begun to stir. "If you're innocent, I'm a Veela. I'm off to talk some sense into Albus."

"Then perhaps you'll realise Professor Snape has spent the last six years helping to keep Harry alive and the pupils of Hogwarts safe," said Hermione.

Moody paused. "I've never denied Snape's had his uses over the years but that's not the same as innocent, girlie. Not by a long shot. But if Albus had a hand in removing the Mark I'll concede I might have been wrong about Snape."

"Where's Professor Snape's wand?" demanded Hermione, her eyes narrowing. The tricky old bastard...

Moody gave a curious grimace which she eventually identified as a grin.

"I thought you'd forgotten about that," he said, fishing in his inside pocket.

"Careful," warned Hermione, determined not to let him best her a second time.

"Oh, I'm always careful, girlie." But for all his bluster Moody handed over Snape's wand without any tricks and turned away.

He was surprisingly nippy for an elderly wizard with a makeshift crutch over uneven ground. She longed to tend to Severus but dared not take her eyes off Moody. To her relief Moody Disapparated when he was on the other side of the clearing. Before she had time to worry if he might come back with reinforcements Severus groaned. 

Hermione pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and crouched beside him. "Are you all right?"

Snape struggled to sit up, lost what little colour had remained to him and vomited over himself and Hermione.

"Sorry," he croaked a little later. He crawled away on his hands and knees to a clean patch of grass before subsiding onto his back, one arm across his stomach. "I feel terrible," he mumbled as he pushed himself up into the sitting position a little later.

"Serves you right for drinking fire whisky," said Hermione with a grimace. "You owe me a new pair of boots - these are never going to be the same. A cleansing charm wouldn't do you any harm either," she added critically, her nose wrinkling with distaste. "Here," she handed over his wand, which was heavier than she had expected.

Snape nodded and took it from her with an exaggerated care. His control less than perfect, rather than a charm to cleanse the stains from his clothes he inadvertently magicked off all his clothes instead. Mildly perplexed to find himself naked, he frowned.

Reaction catching up with her, Hermione began to laugh, even if, for a while, it sounded closer to tears.

"Not the reaction a man hopes for," Snape said moodily. "You've no idea how crushing laughter can be at a time like this." His arms wrapped around his skinny torso, he began to look distinctly pathetic as the cold began to bite. Mild was a relative term in December in lowland Scotland.

Hermione cleaned his clothes and his person with a flick of her wand, remembering to add the wizarding equivalent of a mouthwash for Severus while she was at it.

"Ugh, Spearmint," he noted.

"You can't pretend it isn't an improvement on vomit," she said tartly. "Get dressed. We need to get back to Hogwarts."

His coordination shot, Snape finally succeeded in getting one arm in a shirt sleeve - unfortunately it was the wrong one; he was still trying to work out what had gone wrong when Hermione took pity on him. She muttered under her breath as she discovered the hard way that while it was ease itself to charm clothes off a person, it was virtually impossible to charm them back on again. Her irritation with him for being irresponsible enough to get drunk fell away when their close proximity made her aware of the marks springing up on his body from Moody's boots and fist.

"Severus..." she began in a completely different tone.

"Don't fuss," he said in more of his usual tone, before he ruined the effect by adding pathetically, "I feel awful."

"You've only yourself to blame. Of all the irresponsible... To go off drinking. Why?"

Reality crashing back in on him, Snape relied on old skills to guard his expression. "I'm not answerable to you," he said haughtily but he couldn't meet her gaze.

Instead of starting a blazing row Hermione sank back beside him and took his cold hands in her own. "What's happened?" she asked simply.

Pinned by those warm, honest eyes, Snape told her, bluntly and without finesse. 

They sat wrapped around one another for a long time but even while wearing Hermione like a second skin, with his cloak and a Warming Charm enfolding them, Snape felt cold and ill, the future like a clammy shroud.

They had enjoyed nineteen carefree days. It wasn't enough. Not nearly, he thought rebelliously, hating himself for the pain in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.

Hermione stirred then. "You have nothing to apologise for. If Sybill Trelawney tried harder she might actually be of some use instead of terrifying people with vague predictions that could mean anything. You are not going to die," she said fiercely, holding his face between her hands. The force of her will was an almost tangible presence.

"No," agreed Snape, as if he believed it. He would have welcomed sinking back into the old bitterness but it was beyond him now; his life had been so changed that he couldn't abandon the possibility of hope.

Nineteen days weren't nearly enough.


	29. 29

TWENTY NINE

Dumbledore called an emergency meeting of the Inner Circle before the start of school the following morning.

Only half-awake and grumpy, the members of the Inner Circle jolted into life when Dumbledore told them of Professor Trelawney's prediction.

A number of people began to speak at once.

"Quite," said Snape who, like Hermione, had not slept for over twenty-four hours. His voice cut through the babble of sound like a knife through ripe cheese.

"Yes, it's very shocking. Who would have thought? Save your breath for constructive comment - presuming you're capable of making any. Now, most of all, we need to be alert. We can't be certain what Viveca knew of Hogwart's defences - or lack of them."

"Come off it," said Madam Hooch. "If she's known the truth, Voldemort would have been banging on our door long since. Though a battle plan wouldn't go amiss," she conceded.

There was another jumble of sound as a number of people offered their opinions at the same time.

Accustomed to communal living within a small space back at the burrow, Ron blocked the noise with ease. Still processing what Dumbledore had told them, he glanced at Hermione and was abruptly reminded that she had an even more personal stake in Professor Trelawney's prediction. Her face wore than frozen look he remembered from the scariest moments of their school days. Her hands would be cold and shaking but it would take a phalanx of death eaters to stop her from doing what she thought was right.

Which wasn't always a good thing. Particularly not it Harry decided to be a git about the fact she and Snape were having sex.

One thought led to another unpalatable conclusion. "Any plan to defend Hogwarts that we come up with will have to exclude Harry," said Ron, into the gap left when various conversations dwindled into nothing. "But given the fact he's - " He opted for bluntness. "If he's going to be of any use to us, someone will have to give him a kick up the arse." He gave Black a pointed look.

"There's nothing wrong with Harry. I want to talk about phoenix euphoria," insisted Black belligerently. His shoulders were hunched forward, as if he was physically prepared to batter his proposal through. "If phoenix bliss *does* act as a Veritas Lens, and see people for what they really are, then we should be able to use it to sever Voldemort's link to Harry."

He look both surprised and offended when Ron, rather than Dumbledore, replied.

"Harry and Voldemort have been linked by death for the past seventeen years - Lily Potter's death. If phoenix euphoria sees people as they really are and removes Harry's scar in the same way it removed Professor Snape's Dark Mark, we risk killing Harry. That scar has been a part of him for most of his life. We can't be sure it isn't a part of Harry by now."

"Why does that sound like something Snape would have said?" said Black, who was in no mood to be thwarted.

"Professor Dumbledore persuaded me to make this point if anyone asked, on the grounds that you - people," Ron amended hastily, "would be less likely to assume that I want to see Harry linked to Voldemort."

"Why? One Weasley already bears the Dark Mark."

It was never clear which hex would have reached Black first, only that Dumbledore stood with the wands of the three Weasley brothers and Sirius Black in his hand.

"Enough!" he thundered.

For once he found nothing complimentary to say to the four Gryffindors.

"Would phoenix euphoria work on Remus?" asked Madam Sprout into the sulky silence which followed. She regretted speaking the moment she saw the hope which blazed across Lupin's face.

"It had better," growled Black. "Let's find out. Where's Fawkes?"

"That's bloody typical of you to steam-roller - " began Madam Hooch.

"Really, Freya," said Lupin. "If there's a chance that it might work I think I'm entitled to - "

Another promising argument broke out. Hermione wondered why Severus wasn't busy adding flames to the fire and turned to see that he and Dumbledore were deep in conversation.

"We'll try tonight," said Dumbledore, peering at the group over the top of his spectacles.

　

It had been an extremely difficult day. There wasn't a pupil who had been affected in some way or another by recent events. Pressures from home, not to mention inter-house rivalries meant there were numerous quarrels, several attempts at duals, and an owl-post so vast that the supply of owl treats ran out. Several children were called home; not all of them were from Slytherin.

Snape was late returning to Serpens Tower. To his relief, Hermione made no attempt to discuss Sybill's prediction and he was too preoccupied with the concerns of his house to appreciate what lay behind her over-bright matter.

"I think it was a mistake to announce my lack of a Dark Mark," he said moodily. "It's forced peoples' hands. Though there has been one piece of good news. Crabbe's parents owled over a magical contract, appointing Hogwarts as his guardian until he reaches eighteen. I hope they've had the sense to leave Britain. I've heard of three deaths already. There will be more."

Hermione took his cold hand in her equally cold hand and for a wonder felt him curl his fingers around hers, his thumb slowly describing circles on the back of her hand.

"Apparently Moody called to see Dumbledore earlier today," said Hermione, some time later, when they were snug in bed.

"Damn, I knew there was something I needed to see Albus about. Go to sleep. I won't be long," said Snape, who was already out of bed and pulling on his warmest robe.

　

Woken after only an hour's sleep, Dumbledore gave Snape a pained look. "You have remembered we're due to meet at three this morning? And stop pacing, you're making me dizzy."

"What? Yes. I hear Moody called to see you today. Yesterday."

 

"Alastor is most impressed with Hermione's skill.  I know your experiences with him are such that... I know you don't trust him," amended Dumbledore with untypical delicacy because he was awake enough to have realised that telling Severus that he knew he had been terrified of Moody for twenty years would do nothing to further the conversation.

"I was under the impression - reinforced by Moody's boot and a tricky hex - that he didn't trust *me*." Beneath his surface calm Snape could feel sweat clammy against his skin, his fear of Moody almost as great as his fear of Voldemort.

"It seems to me that Alastor is beginning to recover from his breakdown, occasioned by Crouch's attack. Think about it, Severus. If it wasn't true, you would be in St. Mungo's and Alastor wouldn't have mumbled something to me that an optimist might take for an apology for having so misjudged you."

"I want to meet him," interrupted Snape. "I need to know Hermione won't be his next target."

Taken aback, Dumbledore stared at him before his expression softened. "My dear boy," he began.

By the time they had flooed an alarmingly alert Moody, and Snape had satisfied himself that Moody's only interest in Hermione was in trying to recruit her for the Aurors.

"She might only be a slip of a thing, but she reminds me of - well, of me," said Moody.

"You're delusional," said Snape coldly.

Moody gave a cackle of laughter. "I see the truce didn't last long."

"Alastor," said Dumbledore wearily.

It was another thirty minutes before Moody and Snape had finished bonding in their own way, by which time there was no point in going back to bed.

　

Harassed and under-slept, no one was in the best of moods at three in the morning, as they headed towards the wooded area closest to the main gates, where Fawkes had destroyed the Dementors. While Lupin and Black walked shoulder to shoulder, Lupin seemed to be locked in his own world, oblivious to the anxious glances Black kept shooting at him.

"How can we be sure the phoenix bliss won't affect the children - presuming Severus can duplicate the exact amount of amplification to make it work?" asked Professor McGonnagall. The tip of her thin-bridged nose was red with cold.

"It harmed no one last time," said Dumbledore patiently.

"In case you've forgotten, it left you and Severus burbling like irresponsible idiots! Merlin's bollocks!" McGonagall added crossly, when the heel of her left boot snapped off.

"Oh, put that wand away," she told Hermione. "I'm quite capable of repairing my own boots, thank you very much!"

"Hermione, my dear, would you pass these around?" requested Dumbledore.

"What are they?" she asked, taking them with caution.

"Charmed ear mufflers, of course. For everyone except Remus and Sirius to wear before Fawkes starts singing. We're can't afford half the teaching staff to be...under the weather."

"I wouldn't object to a few hours of bliss," McGonagall said wistfully, as she took a set of mufflers from Hermione.

"Why is Sirius exempt?" asked Lupin, jolted from his self-preoccupation.

"A dose of phoenix bliss won't do him any harm, and might well do him a great deal of good," said Dumbledore quickly, wary of what Minerva might say while tired, anxious and irritable. "Severus, does this look like the spot to you?"

After some conferring they stood in the darkness, waiting with varying degrees of patience, for Fawkes to arrive.

"Where is he?" exclaimed Lupin, edgy with nerves.

Black placed a steadying hand in the centre of his back and murmured something to him.

"He'll be here," said Dumbledore tranquilly. "There now," he added, as Fawkes appeared on Snape's shoulder in a shimmer of gold.

Ear mufflers were pulled on and at a gesture from Dumbledore Fawkes began to sing. As the golden notes drifted up through the darkness, Snape applied the first Sonorous charm, then another, trying to find the correct level of amplification.

After the seventh attempt even Fawkes was beginning to look rebellious. Just as the more irritable members of the party were about to stalk off back to bed in the hope of an hour's sleep, Sprout made a soft sound.

"Oh, look at those boys," she said sentimentally. Because Fawkes, who had fallen silent, vanished from sight, she took off her mufflers.

Black and Lupin stood draped against one another, their expressions fatuous, before they began to nuzzle one another's necks.

"I'd rather not," said Snape with distaste. "Oh, no. Albus, make them stop doing that in public."

"What's wrong, Sev? Missing a little wizard-on wizard action?" asked Black lazily, looking him up and down.

Before Snape could reply, McGonagall batted Black on the back of his head. "Enough! Don't even think it, Severus," she added.

Both Black and Snape had lost their Appearance Detracting Charms, and Hermione's hair charm was a distant memory, her hair wasting no time in frizzing in the damp night air.

"Wonderful," sighed McGonagall, when Black gave a sweetly dopey grin when asked he felt, and told her to ask Remus. "Now someone - I wonder who? - will have to work out a timetable to cover their classes for today." Despite her complaint, lines of strain were less evident on her face.

"When will we know if it's worked?" asked Ron. He resolutely kept his eyes from what Lupin's hand was doing under Black's robe.

"There's a full moon in a week's time," said Snape.

"Wanna come running in the moonlight with us, Sev?" asked Black. "Wanna play with the big boys." His hand made a graphic gesture.

Bill belatedly slapped a Silencing Charm on Black and Lupin. "Ron, you link arms with Remus, while I take Sirius. I'll use a Disillusionment Charm to mask Black from sight when we get to the castle - though someone's going to need to keep an eye on them to make sure they stay in their quarters."

"Take them to mum's," said Ron. "She won't put up with any nonsense, phoenix bliss or not."

"I hope she has a sound-proofed spare bedroom," said Hooch dryly.

"'Lo, Ron," said Lupin, giving him a carefree grin of some charm, as he slung a matey arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Where we goin'?"

"Poor boys," sighed McGonagall as she watched the Weasley brothers take the pair away to sleep off the phoenix bliss. "Will it work?"

 

"I wish I knew," said Dumbledore, who looked troubled. "Let's get back to the castle."

"I hope my hair charm comes back," said Hermione, as she tried to flatten the exuberance of her thick, frizzing hair. "It cost a fortune."

"We can afford it," dismissed Snape carelessly, just before he swung them both out of sight behind the shelter of an oak tree and kissed her once, hard on the mouth, then drew her back on the path as if nothing had happened.

"What was that in aid of?" asked Hermione, not sure if she should let him get away with that display of masterfulness.

"I like it. Your hair. Still short enough to see your neck but less...controlled."

There was a familiar glint in his eyes, even if he was more relaxed than she was used to seeing. Hermione was feeling fairly mellow herself.

"So you're not in the mood for some wizard-on-wizard action?" she said, gathering up a fistful of his robe, just before she yanked an unresisting Snape back behind the oak tree.

　

By the time they returned to the castle, the back of Snape's robe still bore traces of leaf mould, and Hermione was belatedly attending to her mis-buttoned robe.

"I hadn't realised you had this possessive streak," said Snape with sleepy satisfaction.

"Oh, please. You're not irresistible, you know."

"Really? Would you care to test that?"

"Well, I'm game, but you'll have to choose between me and breakfast because there isn't time for both."

Snape's appetite was unimpaired by the glares Hermione directed his way in between mouthful of egg and bacon.

oOo

"Get a move on," Seamus urged, having broken the rules to visit Ron's new quarters. "You might be leaving school at the end of term but you don't want to miss Snape's first Defence Against the Dark Arts class."

"Wicked," said Ron, losing his preoccupied air.

"I know. But that's not going to stop me from sitting behind Blaise for protective cover."

"Then I'll take the seat behind you," said Ron. Scrapping amicably, while they were out of sight of the juniors, Ron wondered if today was the day when Snape actually taught them how to bottle death. Though come to think of it, belladonna was part of a standard potion-making kit and you'd be worm's meat if you were stupid enough to drink it.

　

When Hermione heard the gossip floating up from the long tables in the dining hall she abandoned her breakfast and called in at the library before Madam Pince should arrive. By this time Hermione knew the Restricted Section well and it didn't take her long to check on the charm she wanted to use, before she headed for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. To her relief, it was empty so she positioned herself at the rear of the room and applied the Chameleon Charm, which would enable her to appear part of the stonework.

It was a moment before she smelt the scent of lemons and realised she wasn't alone.

"Albus?" she said, deciding attack was the best method of defence. Why are you hiding here?"

"For the same reason as you, I imagine," he said with a trace of chagrin. "Severus made it plain he didn't want an audience, but it would be a shame to miss this. Do you have any idea what he has planned.

"He didn't event ell me today was his first day," said Hermione with resignation.

"Forgive an old man's vanity, but how did you know I was here? I used to be considered quite skilled at the Chameleon Charm."

"The scent of lemons. I would never have suspected otherwise. You *are* very good at it," she assured him earnestly.

"So I should hope after the years it took me to master the technique. The secret is to concentrate less on being invisible and more on blending into the background. Not literally, you understand," Dumbledore added hastily. "Stonework is relatively easy. Have another try," he encouraged. "Though you'll need to be quick. I imagine this class will fill up early."

As Dumbledore had predicted, by the time Snape swept into the room, he had a full complement of pupils and more besides.

He was two paces into the room when he weeded out the interlopers. "Out, before I deduct house points," he warned, en route to the dias at the front of the room. Once there, he glanced around, lingering for a moment when he gaze settled at the back. His mouth twitched.

Hermione's heart sank, but he didn't evict her.

Lupin quietly entered the room and took a seat at the side.

"I see Mr Potter feels he has nothing left to learn," said Snape. "Let's hope he's correct. You can put away your quills. If you don't remember what I'm about to tell you, you'll be dead before your exams next May."

That, as he had intended, got their attention.

"We can teach you to counter hexes, and to resist Imperious. When you face Voldemort and the Death Eaters - and I fear we all must, sooner or later - they won't abide by the code of duelling, or pause to show off their party tricks. You can forget wizard honour, they have none. Avada Kevada isn't as showy as many hexes but it's mercilessly effective. Unless you're prepared to use it faster than your attacker, resign yourself to death. Quick, if you're lucky. Once they're certain of victory, your death is likely to be agonising, prolonged and messy.

Hermione exhaled unsteadily as a babel of protest filled the room.

For the first time that anyone could remember, Snape gave them their head.

"I don't want to kill anyone," said Seamus flatly, as the noise petered out.

"Very laudable," mocked Snape. "You may experience a change of heart when you see one of your classmates hanging by their entrails, or Nuala being flayed alive. They'll use Avada Kevada on the dangerous ones - the ones capable of inflicting damage - and they'll make sport with the rest of you. You need to remember, while Avada Kevada is an Unforgivable, the infliction of lingering, agonising death is not."

This time the protest was ragged and unconvincing as the weight of realisation settled over them.

"I do not," continued Snape," propose to teach you Avada Kevada. Or to waste my time on picturesque hexes to torture. In battle the aim is to - "

 

" - win," interrupted Ron, his face pale but set with determination.

"That, too," acknowledged Snape, giving him a look of approval. "But first you need to survive - to fight another day, if need be. Forget pointless heroics, the rules of duelling, family loyalties and friendships. You could be facing your best friend, or a parent. The fight will be faster than anything you can imagine. And brutal. You must be prepared for that. Shock tactics intended to make you freeze, even for a second. Hesitate and you die," he added, in the same flat, unemphatic voice.

"You'll need time to consider what I've said. Time to consider what price you're willing to pay to save yourself and those you love. Take the rest of the lesson. Professors Lupin and Dumbledore are here to answer any questions you may have," Snape added, bland as milk.

"Severus never could resist showing off," muttered Dumbledore crossly, as he slowly came into view.

Hermione had the sense to keep her grin inside, where it wouldn't show. Then she remembered what Severus had just said and lost all desire to smile.

oOo

"I still say that with the right training we can get the fifth years up to scratch." Caught mid-sentence as he opened the door to the quarters he shared with Lupin, Black's look of welcome froze.

"Severus?" While they managed a guarded civility most of the time, social calls were not a part of their agenda.

"I should like a word. If' it's convenient?" added Snape, his manner as buttoned up as his formal attire. He had waited over two days before calling, wanting to be certain the last trace of phoenix bliss should have worn off.

"Of course," said Black, very much on his dignity. "Come in. Any excuse to stop marking for a while."

Snape noted in passing that the house elves had wasted little time in altering his former dungeon quarters. The new entrance hall was cluttered with cloaks, boots and brooms; the large, well-lit living room was a welcome contrast, though not noticeably tidier. The room was a jumble of belongings, piles of homework, parchments and too-high stacks of books teetering on every flat surface. The warm amber of the walls, the crowded bookshelves and the shabby sofas, plump with cushions, added to the welcoming atmosphere as much as the blazing fire.

It was obvious Lupin and Black had found a measure of peace together, despite everything. And Snape couldn't find it in himself to begrudge them that.

Lupin glanced up from his marking. "Good evening, Severus." He politely set down his quill. "If this is house business would you rather speak to Sirius in private?"

Snape gave a brisk nod. "It does concern Slytherin house, but in the circumstances it seems foolish to expect Black to keep the news to himself. Although I would be grateful if the pair of you would refrain from discussing this with anyone else." He waited until both men nodded their consent before he continued:

"Following Sybill's prophecy... As you know, there must always be four heads of house in place. Should one fall, another must be available to take over within hours. With your permission, I should like to nominate you - rather Quinapalus Pinchbeck - as the deputy head of Slytherin, to take over as head in the event of my death. You've been doing an adequate

job while I was...unavailable. You appear to have the interests of the children at heart and given the current difficult circumstances, house morale is surprisingly good." Snape looked as if he had sucked a particularly acidic lemon. "Thanks to you."

For a moment Black couldn't think what to say. "I should be honoured," he said at last, oblivious of the irony of the situation.

Snape was not. Salazar Slytherin would be spinning in his grave. "Yes, it is an honour."

"I know it must seem as if the world as turned on its head," said Lupin, "but Sirius really is very good with your Slytherins."

Snape glanced at Black. "So it isn't true that you've been bribing or blackmailing the third and fourth ears into obedience?"

"Ah," said Black sheepishly. "You heard about that?"

 

"You think I would hand over responsibility for the house I've guarded for all these years without making thorough enquiries?" Snape caught control of his temper just in time. "I'm well aware of what you think of me. But my Slytherins are beginning to trust you."

"I know," said Black, muscles in his jaw jumping. "And I don't take that responsibility lightly."

"We appreciate the trust you're placing in us," said Lupin. "But don't forget, this is an eventuality that may never come to pass. Sybill is rarely accurate in her predictions."

 

"On this occasion I fear she must be. She forgot to act," explained Snape colourlessly.

"Ah. That is bad," agreed Lupin, knowing Voldemort would have a score to settle with his renegade Death Eater.

"I needed to speak to both of you," Snape went on, although his attention was on Black, "because there will be occasions when you can't share house business with Remus." The warning was clear.

"That's already happened once," said Lupin, his quiet manner giving no hint of the storm they had weathered.

Snape's eyebrows rose and he stared at Lupin, before giving a nod of acceptance. "I intend to start brewing a twelve month supply of Wolfsbane. Sirius has come on well but... You'll never make a Potion Master," he told Black, blunt because it was a blow best delivered quickly rather than drawing it out.

Black stared fixedly at his feet, reminding himself that Snape probably wasn't enjoying this, and gave a jerky nod. "No," he acknowledged.

"Thank you," said Lupin into the silence, taken aback by Snape's thoroughness in the face of his own death.

Snape fished in a capacious pocket.  "Obviously Hermione will deal with my estate. But if she is unable to do so, through death or incapacity, you should have these. Duplicate keys to my private potions store in Serpens Tower. And to the cabinet containing my research papers. Should it become necessary, pass them to Albus. In the event of his death, destroy them. Do not let Voldemort have access to them."

"Our word on it," said Black, only now beginning to appreciate what this was costing Snape. But because he hadn't reformed totally, he tossed the keys in the air. "Who would've thought?" he mused, oblivious to Lupin's look of exasperation.

"Will you join us in a drink?" Lupin asked Snape.

"While you will undoubtedly want to celebrate, you might want to find a reliable source of Wolfsbane first," said Snape, turning on his heel.

oOo

Despite all the warnings, in his heart of hearts Lupin had expected the phoenix bliss to have worked. It had been agreed that while he would be locked away down in the dungeons as usual, this month he wouldn't take the Wolfsbane potion. Neither he nor Black had expected him to need it, so the shock of transformation was all the more cruel.

Black had forgotten the horror of watching his lover transform without the aid of Wolfsbane. Because he didn't want to leave Remus for longer than he must, he shared Lupin's captivity outside school hours. Rather than transfiguring, so that Snuffles might help to centre the man trapped in the mind of a werewolf, Black was trying to finishing marking the form exams, so that he could make a start on some of Lupin's marking. Not for the first time he decided that responsibility was over-rated.

It was difficult to concentrate when all he wanted to do was rage against the fate which deemed Remus Lupin was a werewolf for life - as if it had ever been a choice of his making.

Black knew his presence was doing nothing to soothe the beast, who paced behind the bars, making blood-curdling noises deep in the back of its throat, but he couldn't bear to abandon him.

He looked up at the sound of a door opening. Snape entered the cell, carrying a tray of food. Cutlery shivered against china when the werewolf lunged at him, saliva sliding from between its jaws.

"By the time the house elves plucked up the courage to come in your meal would have been cold." Snape settle the tray on a clear corner of the table, and picked up a pile of Lupin's marking. He left before an astonished Black remembered to thank him.

Depressed and strung out, as were they all, Black chewed and swallowed automatically, without any idea what he was eating. Main course finished, he took the silver warmer from the pudding dish and paused. He stared for so long that his eyes began to burn. There were only three people alive who knew that treacle tart and custard was his favourite dessert. One was Peter Pettigrew; the second was Remus; the third had just left the room.

Because he preferred simple explanations, Black decided that regular sex was doing wonders for Snape's temper.

oOo

When he had recovered enough to appreciate that he was impervious to phoenix bliss, Lupin was beyond being capable of hiding his bitterness.

"So, I'm deemed to be irredeemably evil, while Sev - "

 

"Is what?" demanded Hermione dangerously.

Snape continued to mark first year Potions essays.

"Not now," said Black tiredly.  "For love of Merlin not now. It was the hope, you see," he added. All his usual fire dimmed, he looked as if he had suffered the death of someone dearly loved.

Which wasn't far from the truth, realised Hermione. She nudged Snape in the ribs with the elbow, causing his quill to jerk. A red ink-blot landed on the parchment.

"Can't you do something?" she hissed at him, as Lupin and Black left the room.

"No," he said, without looking up.

"It doesn't make sense. Logically it should have worked," said Hermione, irritably tucking her hair back behind her ears. She hadn't had time to visit Hogsmead to renew the charm, and her hair was taking full advantage of the fact.

Snape reluctantly gave her his full attention.  "Yes, it should have worked. Although, as you established some time ago, logic has little to do with magic."

"Unless we were in error," said Flitwick. "Perhaps Remus needs to have transformed into a werewolf for the phoenix bliss to work. I've been doing some research on werewolves in my spare time and - "

" - he's been getting up before dawn," interjected Sprout tartly, but there was worry behind her irritation.

"It's appalling to realise how little concrete information we have on werewolves," said Flitwick. "Remus should think about writing a textbook."

"I shouldn't suggest that to him at the moment, dear," said Sprout. "Who's going to tell Remus he must try again?"

"Albus," said Snape promptly. "Now, I don't want to appear unwelcoming but I have another fourteen essays to mark tonight."

"I'll help with the research," said Hermione, as she got up to let Flitwick and Sprout out.

On her return, she gave the tidy pile of parchments on the desk a look of surprise. "I thought you still had loads of marking to do?"

"I lied. It's the Slytherin in me. Come to bed? I'm hoping to persuade you to keep your hair the way it is."

"It'll take a lot of persuading," Hermione warned him.

Snape just grinned.

oOo

After nights of mentally burying Severus, Hermione prosaically decided to do her best to put Sybill's prophecy to the back of her mind. Besides, given the way Severus felt about Trelawney and Divination, he was just as likely to stay alive to spite her. So she took refuge in fixating on minor domestic issues within her control, as if they were the worst thing they had to worry about.

She emerged from the blissful warmth of her bedroom, wearing pyjamas under a cashmere robe and some distinctly unglamorous socks.  "I think the reason the bedroom's so cold, when the rest of Serpens Tower is so cosy, is because of those huge windows letting in the cold. We need curtains. Very thick, double-lined curtains. Not in summer, of course, but for the rest of the year."

"Would they make so much difference?" asked Snape, wondering why the sight of Hermione in baggy socks should leave him addled with lust.

"With the right ones in place it will be as good as triple glazing - the Muggle way of keeping out the cold and noise," she said. "Besides, when the curtains are drawn I won't have to worry about anyone watching us."

"Have you forgotten how high up we are - not to mention that the tower is invisible, and heavily warded?"

"It might not be logical, but it's the way I feel. Shall I ask Lippy to get the curtains?" asked Hermione, striking while Severus was feeling the cold.

Snape weighed up the loss of his elegantly arched windows, against the hell of Hermione's cold feet and the need to wrap up the moment they emerged from the bedcovers.

"Not floral," he said, with what he hoped was firmness.

"How about tartan?" asked Hermione, as she got into bed beside him.

His look of horror spoke volumes.

"Too easy," she said, taking pity on him. "As you've had time to warm up that side of the bed, you can move over. And don't whine. I've done the same for you before now. Besides, between us we can create a lovely fug.

"I said 'fug'," she pointed out, a short time later, before she prodded Snape in the rump with her foot. "I didn't say stop."

　

But the effort she was making to pretend she wasn't terrified for him showed, and that night she woke him in the middle of the night, sobbing in her sleep.

Snape held her close, murmuring the kind of inanities he despised in others, while her hair tickled his nose and his sense of time running out increased.

oOo

Snape idly perused the puzzle board as he waited for Hermione to collect up the various parchments she needed because concentrating on that was preferable to seeing the anxiety she didn't know how to conceal. Her bruised looking eyes were a constant reproach, even if she wasn't aware of it.

"Instead of mentally cremating me every time you look at me, you could always make yourself useful and see what translation spells there are for communicating with beasts," he said abruptly. "It occurs to me that there might be some way to communicate with Lupin at a full moon - although whether that would be useful is open to doubt. Not even Voldemort can control a werewolf."

"I don't," said Hermione, before she shoulders slumped. "I hoped you wouldn't notice. I've been trying to be positive."

She looked so lost standing there that Snape went to her without a thought for his bruised dignity, or his own fear.

oOo

Hermione made time to go to the library that lunchtime, but could find nothing useful regarding translation spells for communicating with 'beasts' - a category that was arbitrary by anyone's standards (not helped by the centaurs insistence on being so categorized as they turned their back on the wizarding world).

After exhausting the obvious possibilities, Hermione wandered up and down the aisles, lost in thought. It was only when she became aware of Madam Pince's unsmiling regard that she wondered if Dumbledore had remembered to test the librarian's loyalty.

What better way to wage long-term war on the wizarding world than by destroying sources of knowledge supposed to be open to all. Of course, this was far from being the only library - all the heads of houses had formidable collections, and Severus had mentioned other private collections in the hands of wealthy bibliophiles, or the merely ambitious, like Lucius Malfoy. All that was required was money: a lot of money. Books outside the school syllabus were a shocking price, understandable when you remembered there were no printing presses and that spells had to be individually cast - not to mention the volumes that gave every indication of being sentient.

"Either take a volume, or leave," said Pince, her high, tight voice sounding more strained than usual. "You're disturbing the books. What are you looking for?"

Hermione was so taken aback to find Pince out from behind her desk that she almost told her the truth. Pince had always seemed to take pupils borrowing books as a personal affront, but she had never been openly obstructive before.

It wasn't until Hermione recovered awareness to find herself making paper chains in the Divination Section that she took the older woman seriously.

More afraid of attacks on her ability to reason than of physical pain, Hermione abandoned her search and reported to Dumbledore, who called yet another meeting of the Inner Circle.

It was a noisy affair. Many of those present had known Pince for decades. Some had even gone to school with her. Throughout the discussion Hermione was conscious of Severus, seeming welded to her side, his hand clasping hers without a care for who might be watching. Strengthened by his unspoken support, Hermione shook off her lingering sense of horror.

But she only relaxed fully when Pince had been taken to St Mungo's, to see what could be done about removing the complex series of spells, including Imperious, which had held her in thrall for so long.

　


	30. 30

THIRTY

　

"You slept better last night," said Snape, ignoring the four things he should be doing for the pleasure of watching Hermione get dressed.

"I had a wonderful night's sleep. Though there's no need for you to look so smug," she added, with a tartness which imperfectly concealed her true feelings.

A fast learner, Snape was quite adept at reading between the lines by this time.

"Is there any news about Madam Pince?" Hermione added.

"It's only been thirty-six hours," Snape pointed out.

"I forgot. Last night, well, in the middle of the night actually, but I thought you might not appreciate me waking you up, it occurred to me that in her vision it was Sybill Trelawney who saw the Grim. Which means she's the one who's going to die. Not that I *want* her too," Hermione added piously.

Snape didn't trouble to hide his amusement. "You might want to try for more conviction," he advised her, delighted by such ruthless pragmatism from a heroic Gryffindor. In the five weeks he and Hermione had been living together he had already mellowed enough not to point out the flaw in her argument.

"Better her than you," retorted Hermione.

As Snape recognised the ferocity in her eyes he lost all desire to smile. Taken aback, he just nodded. He'd never had a protector before.

***

　

"You didn't hear a word I've been saying. did you?" recognised Snape with irritation.

Hermione looked shifty, realising that now probably wasn't the time for the truth. She had been fantasising about Severus making love to her. About that wonderful tongue painting her body with stripes, the sensation as those wonderful hands skimmed over her, littering her body with his fingerprints, inside and out. She ached to be pressed into the mattress by his warm weight and kissed until she was dizzy and aching. Then she would do the same to him before taking him into her mouth, For a man so experienced. pleasure always seemed to catch him unawares.

"Never mind," he sighed. As he slid into bed beside her he wondered how he had survived alone for so many years, although he wasn't yet so sentimental that he was prepared to say as much.

Hermione nuzzled the stubble blurring the sharp press of his jaw line.  "You forgot to apply the Beardbegone Charm. I quite like you with stubble - except for the rash it's going to give me - it gives you a sinister look."

"There's no need to sound so gleeful. I'll get rid of it," he added.

She tugged gently at the hair just below his navel. "Do it tomorrow. A little stubble burn never killed anyone and it's a nice reminder of where you've been..."

Snape looked pained. "Was that supposed to be subtle?" he inquired.

Hermione managed to keep her face perfectly straight. "It didn't occur to me that you'd need coaxing," she said, a doleful set to her mouth.

"Ah." Snape raised his forefinger. "You always over-play at the end."

　

She grinned. "It's your fault for being irresistible. Try not to let in too much cold air..."

Snape gave her a considering look that set her pulse thumping. "By the time I'm finished that will be the least of your worries," he promised silkily, before he eased down under the sheet with a serpentine wriggle.

***

　

Buttercup Wean wasn't having a very good Sunday, not least because of the involvement of so many figures of authority.

It was bad enough to have been caught by Professor McGonagall in the illegal pastime of flying a broomstick in the corridors of Hogwarts but then Professor Pinchbeck had arrived.  After Professor McGonagall had gone off in a huff things had got even worse because Professor Snape had turned up, looking even more sour faced than usual.

Within a short space of time Buttercup felt like a bone caught between two particularly dangerous dogs. While both men were speaking in hissed whispers to one another it could not disguise the fact they were arguing.  It was no surprise when Professor Pinchbeck threw up his hands and stalked off, very red in the face and muttering to himself,  leaving Buttercup alone with her intimidating head of house.  Unable - for reasons of self-preservation - to explain how, as a first year, she came to have her own broom, and still feeling shaken by her fall, she did her best to swallow the tears running down the back of her nose. 

Professor Snape made a sound of impatience and chivied her up to the hospital wing to have the cuts and scrapes on her palms and knees tended to by a stern looking Madam Pomfrey.

He continued to lecture Buttercup the whole time Madam Pomfrey worked.

"But it was bet," Buttercup protested thickly, as she searched in vain for a handkerchief.

"Not an argument that will take you far in life," Snape pointed out tartly, resigned to missing lunch.

"What should I have done?  It was a wager - a matter of honour."

"A matter of honour," Snape echoed.  "Whose?  That of Slytherin house?"

"Well, no," Buttercup admitted in a small voice, finding this ominous calm far more intimidating than Professor Pinchbeck's storm and fury.  "Mine.  You try being a Slytherin called Buttercup," she added. 

A  considering look from Snape made her regret that burst of spirit.  Struggle to suppress it as she might, a tear spilled down one plump, pink cheek.

"We are judged by our actions, not by our name.  Should any of your classmates disagree, tell them to debate the matter with me.  As for this 'matter of honour'...  Learn to think for yourself, Miss Wean.  Who knows, it may become habit-forming."

"But Nuala and Grania said - "

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Were you listening to me just now?  And unless you descend from a species of mouth-breathers, learn to inhale through your nose. You look like a half-wit."

"Yes, professor.  I mean, no, professor."  Two more fat tears slid down her cheeks.

"And don’t," Snape added severely, "snivel.  Do you have a handkerchief?"

She gave a regrettably lush sniff.  "Uh, no, professor."

"Then use this one."

Buttercup blew her nose with some vigour before offering the soggy linen back to Snape.

He eyed it with distaste.  "Keep it.  As I was saying, you are at Hogwarts to learn how to think.  Or do you intend to be a sheep all your undistinguished life?  I'm told you show signs of having a good brain - exercise it."

"Yes, professor."

"During your detention with Professor Pinchbeck this evening you can explain to him how it is that you managed to smuggle a broomstick into Hogwarts.  The Potions classroom, seven o'clock.  Prepare to work hard, I understand there are a number of cauldrons that need to be scrubbed."  Snape was hard-put to hide his glee at being able to give Sirius Black a detention.

Buttercup visibly drooped.  "Yes, professor."

Snape eyed her thoughtfully, wondering how Buttercup had circumvented the wards in the corridors.  His new first years were a promising bunch, even if they were more trouble per pound than the rest of the school put together - with the obvious exception of Potter.

"You will also write a two foot essay on the reasons why you should not fly a broomstick down the corridors of Hogwarts - "

"Because I might hit Professor McGonagall again?" interrupted Buttercup, eager to make amends.

Madam Pomfrey choked on something, while Professor Snape's cheeks hollowed, as if he had sucked on a lemon.  But then he always looked sour, Buttercup reassured herself.

" - by Friday," Snape continued, as if there had been no pause.  "Hand it in to Professor McGonagall, with my compliments."

"But she's already complained about the extra work marking the essay she set me will give her and - "  Buttercup's voice petered out under the influence of Snape's unblinking gaze.

"Yes, professor," she said, belatedly taking his point.

"While losing Slytherin twenty five points in one day is unlikely to be popular, I regret to say that your feat of flying so far inside Hogwarts will receive some acclaim.  Ignore it. *I* am not impressed, which is all that need concern you.  I hear you enjoy your classes with Assistant Professor Weasley," Snape continued.

Buttercup forgot to be nervous and nodded vigorously, her eyes shining.  "When I’m old enough I’m going to be a dragon keeper."

"I applaud your ambition, if not your sense."

"Dragons are greatly misunderstood creatures," Buttercup said, in a faint, unconscious imitation of Charlie Weasley.

"There," said Madam Pomfrey, straightening.  "All finished, and not a squeak out of you.  I think that deserves a chocolate frog.  Well done, child.  Go and help yourself from that cupboard at the far end of the room."

"Charlie strikes again," murmured Snape as Buttercup plodded out of earshot.

"Not just Charlie.  Since Rubeus took in that orphaned baby unicorn he's had half the junior school sneaking off to see it.  Minerva had to place his cottage out-of-bounds."

"Better a baby unicorn than looking for traitors at every turn," said Snape grimly. It had not been a pleasant week for any of the staff as they watched houses turn upon their own members.

"Is that your stomach rumbling?" enquired Madam Pomfrey with an unsubtle change of subject.  "You need to eat more."

"I should like to but I came upon Miss Wean on my way to lunch."

Madam Pomfrey checked in a drawer and handed him a chocolate frog.  "From my secret cache. Eat this to keep you going.  Buttercup's too busy working out how to open the catch on the cupboard door to worry about what you're doing.  Then she'll have to choose her frog carefully, because who knows which one will have the card that will complete her collection."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Snape indistinctly, as he made short work of his frog.

"She's a Slytherin first year.  A Gryffindor would just grab the first one they saw.  A Ravenclaw would pick the one at the back."

"And a Hufflepuff?"

"Oh, they have the sense to enjoy the moment."

"Not that you're biassed, of course," said Snape, twirling his frog card between his fingers.  "I forgot to ask, is Minerva all right?  Miss Wean is no lightweight."  Round and solid, she was handicapped by blonde ringlets and a nose which threatened to grow in size to rival his own.

"Minerva perked up after her second glass of gillywater.  She'd like a word with you," Madam Pomfrey added blandly.

"I rather thought she might," Snape conceded, looking pensive.  "What *is* that child doing now?"

"Probably surreptitiously testing both of us with the Sneakoscope she has in her pocket.  Another Slytherin habit."  Madam Pomfrey gave him a pointed look and had the satisfaction of knowing she had taken him aback.

"I'd forgotten about the one I owned," he confessed, looking self-conscious.

"I hadn't," she said, earning the faintest of smiles.

"I should have known about that baby unicorn," said Snape, with a faint frown. " I'm still so out of touch with school business that I hardly know my own first years."

"Hardly surprising in the circumstances," Madam Pomfrey pointed out.  "But I understand you've been making your mark in the few days you've been back."

Snape gave a wicked grin.  "I have to have *some* pleasures."

"I thought Hermione provided those," said Madam Pomfrey blandly.

Snape deemed it best to feign deafness and turned back into the room.  "Ah, our aviatrix returns.  Miss Wean, when you’re released from durance vile - When Madam Pomfrey says you may leave," he translated with barely veiled impatience " - go and see Professor Hagrid in his cottage.  Say I sent you."

"Yes, professor.  Uh - "

He turned back to her with a resigned air.  "Yes?"

"Isn’t his cottage out-of-bounds to first years?" asked Buttercup. For a few unnerving seconds she had his full attention.

"Are you sure you should be in Slytherin house?" Snape inquired, when he judged her to be sufficiently cowed.

"I don’t know," she whispered, before she plucked up the courage to meet his eyes again.  Reassured, she added, "The Sorting Hat wanted me to go into Gryffindor but I told it I wouldn’t go and it couldn’t make me!"

"Did you indeed?"  Mildly entertained, Snape twitched his cuffs straight.  "Then we can rest assured - you’re in the right house.  If you have a problem, of any kind, speak to me, or to Professor Pinchbeck,  about it before anyone else. I  don’t enjoy hearing members of staff complain about my Slytherins.  Clear?"

"Y-yes, professor."

"Now, for making me waste my valuable free time on you I want a two foot essay on the history of the dragon by the end of next week.  Complete with annotations.  And if you're not sure what annotations means," he anticipated, "look up the word."

Buttercup's expression brightened.  They wouldn't be studying dragons until their fifth year. While she had been longing to read up about them she hadn't wanted to risk being labelled a swot like that Gryffindor girl who'd been a friend of The Boy Who Lived until she'd been expelled for bullying that traitorous git Draco Malfoy.

"Yes, professor," she said happily.  "Will it matter if it's longer?"

A sharp look confirmed she wasn't being impertinent.  "Of course it will matter.  I asked for two feet, I expect exactly two feet.  The discipline will help you learn to marshal your thoughts - such as they may be.  And that is important, if you're serious about working with magical creatures."

Snape headed for the door, then paused and turned back to her.  "Two points to Slytherin for not squeaking while Madam Pomfrey was cleaning your wounds.  Oh, one more thing.  If you must fly in the corridors, contrive not to get caught - least of all by Professor McGonagall."  The door whispered to a close behind him.

Buttercup looked worried.  "But you used a Soothing Charm so it wouldn't smart," she said to Madam Pomfrey.

She gave a comfortable laugh.  "You think Professor Snape doesn’t know that, child?  Off with you.  And no more flying in the corridors, clear?"

"But Professor Snape said - "

Madam Pomfrey sighed.  She always forgot just how wearing first years could be.  Thank goodness there were only three more days until the end of term.

　

Because Lippy had insisted he eat a belated lunch under her watchful eye, Snape spent a peaceful twenty minutes in the vast kitchen, surrounded by off-duty house elves who were enjoying games of macala, which seemed to involve much slapping of knees and good-natured accusations of cheating.

Snape was still in a mellow mood when he returned to the main entrance hall. About to head back to Serpens Tower, in the hope Hermione might be there, he paused at the foot of the staircase  when he noticed Buttercup loitering by the main doors. 

"What are you still doing indoors?  I thought you would be with Professor Hagrid by now," he said, going over to her.

Buttercup jumped, turned with obvious reluctance, and began to fidget.  School uniforms weren't required to be worn on weekends and she was dressed in an unflattering flounced and tiered dress in a regrettable shade of yellow.  Her hands twisting in the tulle of the full skirt, she mumbled something inaudible.

"What was that?  Is some reason why you don't want to visit Professor Hagrid?" enquired Snape, any trace of impatience pressed from his voice. Sirius had admitted there was a problem with bullying amongst the third years and half-bloods always had a rocky ride in Slytherin house.

Buttercup shifted her weight from foot to foot, opened her mouth, thought the better of whatever she had been about to say and shut it again.

"Have I said or done anything to indicate that I enjoy guessing games?" he asked acidly.  "Speak up."

"The Dementors might have come back," said Buttercup, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"If they have, the protective wards will keep them outside the school grounds."

Buttercup looked unconvinced; Snape couldn't say he blamed her.

"As it happens, I need to speak with Professor Hagrid," he lied glibly.  "I trust you'll have no objection to accompanying me?  On your way you can explain your behaviour in Divination class on Friday."

"You heard about that?" she said, looking apprehensive.

"I hear about everything.  It's started to drizzle again.  You'll need a cloak."  A quick charm reduced in size one of the spare cloaks kept in the broom closet off the Entrance Hall.

"Do you know the water-proofing spell for your shoes?  No.  Then repeat after me..."

Snape waited until she was snugly wrapped up before tossing the end of his scarf over one shoulder and leading the way out into the grounds.  He set off for Hagrid's cottage at a brisk pace, the swirling rain misting his hair.  "Keep up, Miss Wean."

Already moving at full trot, Buttercup swallowed hard when they left the sheltering bulk of the castle and scuttled closer to Snape.

He glanced down.  "Kindly release me.  Holding my hand will be no protection against a Dementor, in the unlikely event that one should appear in the grounds."

"Yes, sir."  Buttercup surreptitiously clutched a fold of his cloak instead.

Snape took the line of least resistance and pretended not to notice, although he did reduce his pace enough for her to be able to slow to a fast walk.

When Hagrid failed to respond to the knock on the door of the cottage Snape glanced down at his tense-looking companion. She had been untypically quiet during their walk and he suspected that her reddened nose owed more to a few surreptitious tears than to the cold. A few minutes with the baby unicorn should restore her spirits. 

It had stopped raining, although the force of the wind stung the eyes and skin and whipped out their cloaks.  Snape continued to search for the unicorn.  He went past the cottage and deserted chicken run and circled the pumpkin patch and vegetable garden full of listing stalks of Brussel sprouts and pigeon-pecked cabbages. When they reached the secure fencing which kept the large herd of thestrels from the main grounds he ensured that he stood between Buttercup and the beasts; while their huge enclosure took in a hefty chunk of the forest they were fiercely territorial.

Buttercup's head shot up, her eyes wide with fright.  "W-what was that noise?" she asked, her wand in a shaking hand.

Snape kept his approval of her response time to himself.  "The wind in the trees," he lied, staring down a thestrel. They had the pitiless eyes of a predator.

Buttercup looked unconvinced but followed him gamely enough.

As they left behind the thestrels the ground became more boggy, eventually a large wooden shed came into sight.  From the stink of dung, whatever creature might be occupying it was obviously vegetarian and therefore relatively harmless.  Relieved, Snape decided he need not investigate whatever Rubeus might have decided to start cross-breeding this time - he was Albus' responsibility.

"Where are we going?" enquired Buttercup more cheerfully.  "Professor Hagrid never lets us come this way."

Snape stopped in his tracks.  "The unicorn...?"

"The pen is round the other side of his hut.  Just behind the privy," Buttercup said, with just a trace of smugness.

Snape muttered soundlessly under his breath, turned on his heel and headed back to the cottage.  "Perhaps you might care to lead the way to where the unicorn is kept," he said acidly, when they finally reached Hagrid's hut.  His stalk lost all menace after he skidded in the mud for the third time and was forced to concentrate on not falling flat on his face.   Damp, cold and irritable, he made a mental note to leave the next snivelling first year he saw to their own devices. His instincts over the years were obviously sound, good deeds *always* bit you in the arse. Hermione was obviously having a bad effect on him.

Undeterred, Buttercup beamed up at him.  "You'll love the unicorn," she assured him.  As she then speeded up to the point where he was left trailing in her wake, Snape was unable to disabuse her of the idea.

　

　

Oblivious to the cold misery of the weather, Harry sat perched on an upturned log under the shelter of a stunted Scots pine.  He fidgeted absently, relieved to be away from the incessant noise that was life at Hogwarts.  It wasn't as if he had intended to challenge Seamus to a duel.  Then that stupid old trout McGonagall had interfered... 

He rubbed angrily at the rash on his chest.

His first intimation that he wasn't alone came when he heard a soft rustling sound and looked up to see a baby unicorn stagger sleepily from a wooden pen only a few feet away, straw clinging to its mane and tail.  At this age its coat was still a rich gold, rather than the silver of an adult, and it seemed to glow, even in the gloom of the December afternoon.

Two paces from shelter the foal caught the scent of the wizard who had invaded its territory.  When it found itself unable to flee it made a high-pitched bleating sound and began to shiver.

Jolted from his self-preoccupation, Harry remained still because he couldn't think what else to do.  He made some reassuring noises but they only seemed to frighten the baby even more, its insistent cries becoming louder and more frequent as it called for its dead mother. 

Hardly daring to breathe, Harry watched the terrified creature inch towards him as if it was being dragged by some invisible force.  He looked around, but there was no sign of Hagrid.  Not that he'd ever taught them anything, useful or otherwise, about unicorns - except that Voldemort killed them for their blood.

The foal’s cries intensified as it lost its battle to keep its distance, drawn  closer and closer to Harry, even as its head pulled in the opposite direction, the flight instinct strong.  Eventually, shivering with terror, it settled at Harry's side, its head resting on the shoe of his left foot.

Harry stared down at the foal, which was much heavier than it looked, and saw how it quivered, as if anticipating the butcher's knife.  He struggled against a sense of guilt, while knowing that this wasn't his fault.  It would have made him uncomfortable to have anything afraid of him  - but that something so young should be so scared of him seemed an offence against nature.   

Yet it had been compelled to settle at his side.

Another piece of information about unicorns occurring to him, Harry's eyes widened with embarrassed dismay.  So the old stories were true.  Despite their fear of man, unicorns were drawn to virgins.

The back of his neck prickling, Harry swung round to discover Snape and a short, fat Slytherin first year staring at him.  The girl just looked accusing but the dawning comprehension on Snape's face left Harry scarlet with mortification.  He tried to get to his feet but his calf and foot were pinned by  the unicorn's head, whose weight seemed far in excess of its small size.

"*Move*," he urged it through gritted teeth, in an agony of embarrassment.  He promised himself that if Snape made one comment he would hex him into next week.

"Fucking hell," breathed Snape, before he belatedly remembered his companion.  "Forget you heard that, Miss Wean," he instructed.

"Heard what, sir?" she asked demurely, quick to sense an advantage.

"Well done," Snape acknowledged absently.  His gaze returned to Harry, who was glaring at him while trying to push away the unicorn.  Given the disparity between the unicorn's small size and its actual body weight his lack of success wasn't surprising.

"Does that mean I can forget about doing that essay for Professor McGonagall?" asked Buttercup, a great believer in seizing the moment.

Distracted from his embarrassment, Harry stared with respect at the first year brave - or foolhardy - enough to try to blackmail Snape.

"No, Miss Wean, it does not.  In fact you can produce another essay for me on the art of subtlety - a trait which seems to have bypassed you - for your impudence."

Her expression fell.  "Yes, sir."

Snape glanced at the face turned up to him.  "But a point to Slytherin for thinking of it."

Her toothy grin held a certain charm, it faded when she turned her attention back to the unicorn.  Her look of longing slowly changed to suspicion when she recognised it was terrified.  She glared at Harry.

"I know a little bit about unicorns.  They don't like any humans but they're scared stiff of men and will go to great lengths to avoid them.  Why is that baby lying beside you when it's obviously scared stiff?  Have you hexed it?" she accused him belligerently.

"Of course not.  Of all the stupid things to suggest.  Gryffindors don't go round hexing things."  The idea of hexing Snape was tempting enough to make Harry's wand hand itch.

Buttercup squared up to him.  "Suggesting Slytherins do, I suppose?"

Of course, he could just hex her instead.

She began to croon to the unicorn, who tried to go to her but was seemingly glued to Harry's side.  The soft sounds of distress it was making brought Buttercup back up to her feet. Arms akimbo, she glared at Harry.

"Well, if you're not hexing it how are you making it stay next to you?  I'm a maiden.  It should be coming to me, not you."

Snape deemed it prudent to intervene, Buttercup was quick-witted and no respecter of persons.  "This is Harry Potter.  The Boy Who Lived.  His power draws the unicorn."  Such was the conviction in his voice that he almost convinced Harry.

"Oh, I wish I could do that," breathed Buttercup, eyeing the unicorn with longing.

"If Potter wasn't here, you would be able to.  However, nothing can combat the pull of the Boy Who Lived." 

Only then did Snape realise Harry was wearing glamour as powerful as his own and Blacks, presumably to disguise the acne disfiguring his face, together with the marks of sleeplessness. That spotted, Snape concentrated his considerable powers and discovered Harry was using another charm which ensured people would find it difficult to concentrate on him.  In no mind to investigate with Buttercup Wean at his side, Snape wondered how best to get Buttercup out of Harry's line of fire.

It had been some weeks since he'd seen Potter but the others should certainly have noticed something, glamour or no glamour.  Bloody typical that it was left to him to deal with, he thought, seething at the injustice of it.

Large-eyed, Buttercup stared at Harry, who did his best not to look self-conscious.

"That information is not for public consumption - which is why you won't find it in the reference books in the library," added Snape.  "Do not repeat what I told you.  Are you quite clear on that point?"

"Yes, sir.  It might hurt the unicorn if news got out, mightn't it?" said Buttercup.

"It would probably result in its death.  Ah, Hagrid," said Snape, with well-hidden relief.  There was something disquieting about Potter's stare and he wanted Buttercup well away from it.  "If you could take charge of the foal.  This is Miss Buttercup Wean, a member of my House.  She's interested in unicorns."

"There now," said Hagrid comfortably, "isn't that nice.  Hello, Harry. I see yeh've made friends with 'im," he continued as he straddled the fence and bent to scoop up the foal. He tucked it against his side, making nothing of its weight.  It immediately stopped shivering and tucked its head into the dark cavern of his coat pocket. 

"That's the way, my lovely," he encouraged it.  "So, Buttercup, s'pose yeh tell me everything yeh know about unicorns."  Without a backward glance, he led her into the unicorn's pen.

"With me,"  Snape commanded Harry.

"I haven't done anything wrong!"

"We need to speak with the headmaster.  Now.  Unless you enjoy terrorising helpless creatures?" Snape added blandly.

Harry glared at him and headed back to Hogwarts with a achingly straight back and an expression like thunder.  He was so grateful to get away from the unicorn that it didn't occur to him to question why they needed to speak to Dumbledore until Snape marched him into the meeting room and summoned by Floo not only the headmaster but Professor McGonagall and his godfather.

Enraged beyond reason, Harry pointed his wand at Snape, and yelled the hex he'd longed to inflict for years.


	31. 31

THIRTY ONE

Dumbledore's office was in chaos. Snape was sprawled on the floor, Black supporting him as best he could.

His wand arm outstretched, shaking with the intensity of the rage roaring through him, Harry was deaf to the murmur of Dumbledore's voice. He only became aware that everything was getting fuzzy around the edges when it was too late to do anything about it.  His eyes rolling back in his head, he subsided onto the floor.

"He isn't hurt," Dumbledore assured Black, "just asleep for a few minutes, until the dampening charm has a chance to take effect." As he spoke, he relieved Harry of his wand before going to Snape's side.

Black was clearly in shock. "You saw what... Harry's... We've lost him, Albus. Harry is - "

"We don't know what Harry is at the moment," said Dumbledore. "Now be quiet, I need to concentrate."

He placed his right hand on Snape's skull, cradling it as he gathered all his formidable will. After a few moments he began to murmur, his unblinking gaze on Snape's face, which was distorted by agony. Little by little the dreadful sounds Snape was making faded away, his muscles slowly released from the curse which had threatened to tear him apart.

　

　

Disorientated, Harry stirred, memory of what he had done seeping back. Bile rising, he stared numbly at the man he had hated for so many years, remembering the day when he had dreamt of making Snape twitch under this very curse - like the spider they had watched Professor Moody torture.

Like he'd just tortured Snape.

And he wasn't sorry.  Not a bit.  In fact he'd do it again, given the chance. The bastard had been begging for it.

It was only then that Harry realised those noises he could hear were coming from Snape: he was whimpering.

Harry began to feel very hot, then cold and there was high-pitched buzzing sound in his ears, sweat clammy on his skin.

A hand at the back of his neck pushed his head between his knees as his robe was peeled away and the collar of his shirt unfastened.  After a while the buzzing receded, the rage and sense of panic receding.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and discovered Dumbledore was watching him. He looked grave and sad, as he had when Cedric had died.

"He asked for it," said Harry viciously, before he looked confused, and rather frightened.  "I don't know why I said that," he muttered.

"Convenient," said Professor McGonagall. "It's to be hoped everyone's memory will be as accommodating." She looked like a woman whose worst nightmare had just come true.

"Severus, don't try to move yet," said Dumbledore.

"Save your breath." While his voice was harsh, Black's hands were gentle as he eased Snape back against the support of the wall. A flick of wand provided the Cleansing Charm necessary to save some of Snape's dignity after his body had voided itself.

After a few moments more Snape opened his eyes.

"Well, well, well," he said weakly, his voice gravel rough.  "It would appear that our Mr Potter can give Voldemort a run for his money." 

He looked over to where Harry sat, Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder.  "I hoped you enjoyed that, Potter.  Try it again when my back isn't turned and you'll be wearing your bollocks for ear rings."

"You're welcome to try!" snapped Harry.

There was a flare of power from Dumbledore.  "That's enough, Harry!"

All Snape's concentration remained on Harry until Harry looked away and began to fidget.

"Bad blood will out, eh," said Black, horror still in his eyes. It was noticeable that he avoided looking at Harry. "Well, go on, say it. You must be euphoric."

"One would think so," agreed Snape. "But while James was an arrogant prig there was nothing wrong with Lily."

There was an odd, extended silence, as if no one knew what to do next. Harry still sat on the floor, his expression sullen, resentful and scared all at once. While Dumbledore had Harry's wand, power continued to emanate from Harry despite the dampening spell Dumbledore had used.

Exhausted by what he had done to help Snape, Dumbledore studied Harry and murmured another spell. Little by little the ferocity in Harry's expression eased until it was smoothed away, like waves eradicating marks on a sandy beach.

　

　

While he felt as if he had been racked, Snape was capable of thought, even if moving wasn't an option just yet. He rode out the remaining discomfort as he had always done, by trying to focus on something else - Harry in this case. The boy - young man he corrected himself - had filled out to a surprising degree in the last few months, muscle bulking up his upper body to an almost grotesque degree. Of an age when his classmates were giving their appearance serious consideration Harry's hair was lank and greasy and his face was crimson with some of the worst acne Snape had ever seen. Harry obviously found it difficult to sit still without fidgetting and his clothing was creased and untidy. His robe at his side, his school shirt was unfastened to reveal the Muggle garment known as a 'T shirt', although Snape had never understood what the alphabet had to do with it. He made a mental note to ask Hermione.  This 'T shirt' was better than most, there was some kind of picture above the would-be humerous comment about Seekers. Odd that the picture should have nothing to do with Quidditch, he thought vaguely, grimacing as cramp twisted one hand. It looked like a deer - a stag.

His eyes narrowed. "Isn't Potter's patronus a stag?" he asked.

"Yes. Like his father," said Black. "Why?"

"Potter, come here," Snape commanded.

Black opened his mouth, then resolutely closed it.

His eyes looking shockingly green in a paper white face, which made the livid marks of his acne stand out even more, Harry looked up. There was no sign of the killing rage he had displayed earlier, only confusion.

"Me?" he said.

"That's right."

Clumsy with nerves, Harry slowly walked over to Snape.  Unasked, he dropped to his knees.

"Very gratifying," said Snape.  "Come closer, I can't reach you there."

"Don't," protested Black, before he stopped himself.

Dumbledore's knuckles yellowed with pressure where he gripped a chair back.

Harry flinched when Snape's face loomed in his line of vision.  But all Snape did was sniff him, then lean back against the support of the wall.

"Take off that shirt," said Snape.

With no idea what to expect, Harry did so, willing his hands not to shake too noticeably.  Though he thought Sirius might try to stop Snape if -  He let his crumpled shirt fall to the floor, dressed now in the black trousers of his uniform, and the tee shirt Molly Weasley had given him for his birthday.

Snape leant forward and sniffed him again, then glanced up at Black.

"Remember those discussion about scents we had back in the summer?  Potter's has changed.  Check for yourself."

"What?" blurted out Harry, disconcerted to have two men sniffing him.

"Keep quiet," said Black, looking distracted.  "I wish Remus was here."

"It's just sweat," said Harry, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.  "I got hot, that's all."

"Don't be a bigger fool than you can help," said Snape, grimacing as he slowly made it to his feet. He staggered and would have fallen but for Black's support. "You reek of ...  While I've never smelt it, there's only one thing it can be.  Where did you get that Muggle garment you're wearing?"

"What's that got to do - ?" began Harry.

"Tell him," said Black flatly.  He had yet to look Harry in the eye.

Harry shot him a glance and coloured at the expression he saw on his godfather's face.  The knowledge of what he had done was slowly sinking in.  He'd used an Unforgiveable on Snape.  There was blood on Snape's chin from his lower lip, which he'd bitten in his agony.

He'd tortured Snape.

After a few moments Harry realised he wasn't going to be sick after all.

"M-Mrs Weasley gave it to me.  For my birthday," Harry said.  "The stag is for my Dad's animagus.  It's my patronus."

They all studied Harry's chest.  The image of the white stag leaping was uncomfortably realistic.

"That's certainly not Muggle artwork," said Dumbledore.  "Molly couldn't afford wizard artwork of that quality.  Few of us could.  I swear that's Navarre's work - he's based in Oporto.  And at his prices only someone as rich as the Malfoys - "

"Or me," interjected Snape.

"Don't be ridiculous," dismissed Dumbledore. He summoned a house elf to find Ron Weasley.

"But the label had her handwriting," protested Harry.  "I know it had run a bit in the rain but it was her handwriting.  I'm not an idiot.  I know not to accept presents from strangers."

"What about the owl who brought it?" asked Dumbledore.

"I didn't see it," Harry admitted.  "It was a filthy night."

Now standing as far away from Snape as he could get, as if he could disassociate himself from the curse he had inflicted so casually, Harry flinched at the look Black gave him.

A knock on the door signalled Ron's arrival.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," said Dumbledore.  "We have something of a puzzle.  Harry is under the impression that on his last birthday your mother gave him the garment he is currently wearing."

Unable to hide his curiosity about what might lie behind this, Ron glanced at Harry's chest, whistled and gave Harry a look of scorn.  "Get real, mate.  Mum couldn't afford something of that quality in a month of Sundays. Anyway, I watched her knit a jumper for you in a disgusting shade of mauve.  I sent Pig off with it myself.  There was a tin of toffee, too.  The proper kind, not Fred and George's sort."

"B - but when I thanked Mrs Weasley for it she kissed me and burst into tears," said Harry, his skin beginning to crawl with dread, his treasured tee shirt starting to feel as if it was constricting his breathing.

"That was just her hormones," said Ron.  "Though it explains why you were raving on about it.  I thought it was odd at the time.  That's a brilliant picture.  You'd swear that stag was breathing."

"Thank you, Ron. That's all," said Dumbledore, in a tone there was no arguing with.

Ron left with obvious reluctance.

"Take it off," said Black with revulsion.  "Now."

"Unless you're still worried about your virtue?" added Snape, when Harry just stood there.

Flushing, Harry yanked off the tee shirt, then hurriedly pulled on his school shirt when he saw that everyone was watching him.  Straightening his glasses, he tossed the tee shirt into Snape's lap.  To his astonishment Snape began to sniff it.

"As I suspected," he said at last, when everyone was beginning to fidget with impatience.  "It would appear someone has been poisoning the saviour of the wizarding world with the Pugnatio Potion."

"I've never heard of it," said Professor McGonagall.

"I have," said Dumbledore, his expression grim.  "Severus, if you would explain."

"It was a potion devised in the early Fourteenth century to augment the natural aggression of young males who belonged to the Cult of the White Boar - which was the name of what was, essentially, a club of young pureblood males eager to prove their manhood by killing one another as messily as possible.  When did your headaches become more severe?" Snape asked Harry.

"Uh..."

"I would imagine it was around the same time that you started to have disturbed nights. You've been sleeping badly and experiencing increasingly violent mood swings - including surges of rage which are getting more  difficult to control.  Acne.  Higher than usual sex drive - although at seventeen how would you know the difference.  Is that everything?"

Harry glared at his feet so hard he began to see double.

He wasn't going mad.

In some ways that would have been preferable.

"Harry," said Black.  "Whatever it is, we need to know."

"Why?" demanded Harry bitterly.  "So you can all pick over that the way you pick over everything else I do or say?  And it never makes any difference.  In the end I'm the one who has to kill Voldemort.  Only he won't die!"  He could feel tears burning the backs of his eyes and fought to control them.  If he broke down in front of Snape...

It was a while before Harry was in any state to appreciate how quiet it was.

"Is there something else?" asked Snape finally, at his most prosaic.

Harry still couldn't meet the eyes of the man he had tortured.  "Yes.  I keep wanting to destroy things," he added in a rush, just to get the words out.  He stopped, took several steadying breaths and forced himself to meet Snape's eyes. It wasn't as bad as he had expected.  "I keep wanting to hurt things.  People.  Anyone who annoys me.  You in particular.  One moment everything's fine and then...  I mean I've hated you for years.  I'm used to that but I even wanted to hex Professor McGonagall the other day.  And you...   I daydreamed about putting you under the Cruciatus once.  Moody had just demonstrated on a spider and it writhed and - "

Suddenly he could hear again the sounds Snape had made as he continued to twitch long after the curse had ended. 

Swinging away, Harry was violently sick.

Black cleared away the resulting mess with a flick of his wand, then summoned a house elf to bring Harry a glass of water.

Slumped on the edge of an armchair, Harry tried to concentrate on the conversation going on at the other end of the room.

"The Pugnatio was banned over four hundred years ago, when the activities of the Cult resulted in too many of the old Houses losing their first born in duels," continued Snape.  "Not duels as we know them today, but steeped in arcane ritual and the darkest of magic.  It wasn't uncommon for both parties to die.  But any survivor had made a name for themselves that would last for the rest of their life.  The Pugnatio was developed to enhance the prospects of a contestants by heightening aggression and endurance by emphasising all the characteristics we think of as 'male'.  It increases the blood flow to the muscles, heightens brain activity, over-stimulates the -

"Do stop me if I'm boring you," Snape said pointedly, when Harry gave an uncontrollable yawn from sheer nervousness.

"Is the potion difficult to brew?" cut in Black, trying to divert attention to himself.

"I've never attempted it but I've read enough to know I would be hard-pressed to make a successful batch."

"So...Potion Master level."

"Given the level of skill, not to mention the expenditure of power,  I can think of only one Potion Master in the last two hundred years capable of making it - apart from Albus, of course," Snape added.

Every eye in the room moved to Dumbledore.

He gave Snape a look of reproach. "This is no time for a demonstration of your dubious sense of humour.  It's Rakowski, isn't it?"

"It must be.  He wrote congratulating me on my breakthrough in blood-thinning techniques.  Which means he's been working on the Pugnatio for over three years.

"Potter. how often have you worn this tee shirt?"

Harry shrugged.  "Lots.  I'd wear it, put it out for washing when it got too... Then I'd wear it again."

"But why?" asked Black.  "It wasn't as if it was on display for most of the time.  And given the heat at the beginning of term..."

"I think I know," said Dumbledore.  "At first, it offered a link to James - "

" - and by the time the novelty might have worn off  Harry was an addict," said Snape.

"Pugnatio is addictive?"

"I suspect Rakowski added a little something of his own. Something subtle." Snape was frowning into the middle distance, most of his attention clearly elsewhere.

Harry began to fidget again.  He wasn't going to let them take him without a fight but equally he  didn't want to hurt anyone else.  Not even Snape.

"When will I go there?" he asked in a tight voice.

"Go where?" asked Dumbledore absently, peering at him from over the top of his spectacles.

"To Azkaban."

Black sat down as abruptly as if his legs had been swept from under him and Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore.  "The natural consequence of using an Unforgiveable.  What do you intend to do, Severus?"

"What?"  Snape looked up from the tee shirt he had been examining with the tip of his wand.  "Well, I'd be grateful if someone could obtain the necessary books and scrolls from my library and bring them up to the laboratory.  I'll run a couple of preliminary tests - to confirm what other potion has been used.  Obviously Radkowski has devised some method of reactivating the Pugnatio after each wash.  Given how many months Harry has been subjected to it, I'll need to acquaint myself with any possible affects of withdrawal. I'll need Poppy to be involved and - "

"I meant, what do you intend to do about Harry?" said Dumbledore tartly.

"Oh, I won't need him yet, though Poppy might want to keep an eye on him. I'll need some blood samples, too - taken by traditional means," added Snape dryly.

"Severus, I admire the work ethic as much as the next wizard, but will you kindly get your mind off the Pugnatio and tell Harry whether you intend to report his use of an Unforgiveable," snapped Dumbledore.

"What possible use would that be?" said Snape, ninety per cent of his attention still elsewhere.  "Apart from relieving my feelings, of course."

"I'm obliged to you," choked Black.

Snape spared him a brief look.  "Is this where we exchange a manly hug and declare we're better people for having known one another?  I'll need you to do the practical work for me, I can't at the moment."

"Practical work?"

"Well, we can't have the saviour of the wizarding world with acne, can we?  Hermione can take notes."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, looking pensive.  "Do you really think it would be a good idea to tell Hermione that Harry has used an Unforgiveable on you?  Particularly Cruciatus."

Snape grimaced.  "You may have a point," he conceded.  He glanced at Black.  "Would Remus - ?"

Black nodded.  "Of course."

(Note: After-effects of Pugnatio are like that of anabolic steroids - crash after addiction, loss of muscle strength/lethergy/depression. Snape and Pomfrey spend a lot of time with Harry, finding ways to steer him through the aftermath of the addication. Harry emerges back to his old safe, reconnects with friends etc.)

　

A couple of days later Snape, Dumbledore and Black discuss what had caused Snape to call original meeting - the fact Harry's still a virgin and can summon unicorn.

Snape was blunt about it. "We need to see that Harry has sex in case Voldemore has plans for any of the darkner uses for a virgin."

"You have a suggestion to make?" asked Dumbledore. It was difficult to read his expression.

"Yes, that Potter doesn't realise what we're planning! He's still Quidditch mad, I presume?" Snape glanced at Black, who nodded. "That's helpful. There's going to be a meeting of referees at the House of Mirth, to discuss the results for the new world-class Nimbus that's been developed.  The broom designer will be there to answer questions.  I thought of taking Harry.  He may want to see the broom tested and he and Millicent Bulstrode - "

"Millicent Bulstrode?"  echoed Black.  "Is she that boot-faced girl with a big arse?"

Professor McGonagall looked pained.  "Sirius, must you be so... Never mind," she sighed, recognising a lost cause.

"Given that Harry and Millicent were someway down the road to forming a relationship, you'd better learn to speak of Ms Bulstrode with more respect.  Or explain why not to Harry," added Snape dryly.

"You're trying to get Harry off with a Slytherin!" yelled Black.

Snape sighed.  "To be frank, I don't care if Potter copulates with a farmyard animal so long as he rids himself of his troublesome virginity.  He likes Millicent.  In my experience girls of 18 tend toward romantic notions like that."

"Well, you'd know," said Black.`

Lupin closed his eyes.  "If I pretend he's nothing to do with me," he said tiredly.

"Wishful thinking gets us nowhere," said Snape.

"Sirius, that will do," said Dumbledore, forestalling Black.

"But Albus...  Not only getting Harry tangled up with a Slytherin but at the House of Mirth!  You know the author Ivor Biggin will be there?"

"You made up that name," said Dumbledore accusingly.

"Unfortunately not," said Professor McGonagall at her primmest, although her eyes were sparkling.  "I've confiscated five copies of his wretched book in the last two weeks.  Merlin only knows how many copies there are in school..."

"They're supposed to be thinking about their O.W.L.S."

"Really, Albus," said Professor Sprout.  "They're teenagers.  Given the choice between examinations and sex which would you rather think about?  March and I thoroughly enjoyed the book," she added.

Snape looked pained, Professor McGonagall forgot herself long enough for a ribald chuckle to escape and Lupin looked amused.

"Ceres!" protested Black, looking shocked.

　

　

　

　

　

"Who do you enjoy talking to most?"

Harry glared at him.

Snape reminded himself of Dumbledore's unreasonable ban on injuring pupils.

"Potter, a little cooperation wouldn't come amiss.  My interest in the inner workings of your psyche is non-existent.  I've been Head of House for more years than I care to remember.  And in the dim and distant past I was seventeen.  Nothing shocks or surprises me," Snape lied, "and I'm not yet so jaded that I'll find your revelations titalating.  Clear?  Excellent.  So...  Who do you enjoy talking to most?"

"Ron, of course."

"You're gay?"

Harry blinked. "I don't think so. Why?"

"I am trying to establish, without any help from you I might add, if there are any women - or men, of course - at Hogwarts in whom you have a...romantic interest." From his expression Snape might just have been offered a slug sandwich.

Desperately embarrassed, and equally desperate not to show it, Harry looked everywhere but at Snape. "I like talking to Millicent. Bulstrade," he added, as if Snape wasn't familiar with the only 'Millicent' at Hogwarts. "She really knows her broomsticks.  But she's a Slytherin," he added, his gaze sliding away from Snape's.

"If you ever thought about anyone but yourself you would have noticed just how many cross-House relationships there are, and always have been.  I confess, I didn't expect you to display such discernment.  I imagine Ms Bulstrode could be excellent company - if she chose to be.  I'm taking Ms Grainger to a two-day conference at the House of Mirth on Saturday.  You and Miss Bulstrode may care to accompany us.  We'll be staying over-night, so pack accordingly."

"Conference," said Harry, without enthusiasm.

"Lov Handler - "

"The broomstick designer!"

"As I was saying, the broomstick designer Lov Handler will be staying at the House of Mirth at the same time, although I believe it's a private visit.  She has been in correspondence with the major magical schools of the world for some time.  She's eager for the best players to give the new brooms an informal trial, then report on them.  It occurred to me that you and Miss Bulstrode might enjoy meeting her."

"We would," said Harry, his eyes sparkling behind the lens of his spectacles.  He looked more carefree than he had for a couple of years.  "Can I tell Millicent?"

"Of course.  Though in private, if you please.  In a school full of the quidditch-mad..."

"We won't tell anyone," Harry promised.  "Thanks," he added awkwardly from the doorway.

　

More to follow as I get it typed up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously there's more to come. I need to type up the notes and odd scenes in a way that, hopefully, will make sense.
> 
> My thanks to those who've stuck with the story over the years.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you *so* much for the kind words and encouragement, particularly from those who've been here from the beginning. I'm sorry you're being short-changed for the last part but I'm afraid from now on it'll be even more rough and ready with more notes and less sketched out scenes. With the best will in the world, some portions may be slightly out of order. I never realised how many notes I had - or how bad my hand writing is!
> 
> Please note there are references to the deaths of major characters, who may have survived in the books.

Thank you *so* much for the kind words and encouragement, particularly from those who've been here from the beginning. I'm sorry you're being short-changed for the last part but I'm afraid from now on it'll be even more rough and ready with more notes and less sketched out scenes. With the best will in the world, some portions may be slightly out of order. I never realised how many notes I had - or how bad my hand writing is!

Please note there are references to the deaths of major characters, who may have survived in the books.

THIRTY TWO

The last few days at the end of the Christmas term were usually the highlight of the year. This year was different. Hogwarts no long felt like the sanctuary it once had and news from beyond its walls was disturbing. There had been a number of unexplained deaths, the Aurors had lost thirteen of their number in a clash with the Death Eaters, which had left an area of heath land in the west country unusable for several decades. The Muggles called in 'a chemical spill'.

Despite myriad dangers, the vast majority of parents wanted their children home with them for what might be the last gathering of some families.  Of the fifteen children who remained at Hogwarts, Crabbe was the oldest. Ron took Crabbe home with him. Swamped by Gryffindors - not to mention two vocal babies - Crabbe lost the frozen expression which had so been worrying Snape.

oOo

NOTE:

Apart from keeping an eye on Harry at the House of Mirth, Snape and Hermione enjoy themselves, except for the fact Hermione loathes Millicent Bulstrode.

 

"I can't understand what Harry sees in her," she said crossly, as she struggled to untangle her hair the hard way.

Snape surreptitiously used a charm to do it for her. Sometimes Hermione seemed to forget she wasn't a Muggle.

"I imagine Harry would say the same about the choice you made," he pointed out.

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "Does he know?"

"I haven't told him. I presume not. He's never been particularly observant."

Snape bites the bullet and brings Hermione up-to-date. She doesn't take the news of Harry's treatment of her lover well. Snape's explanation of the Pugnatio Potion softens the blow. As soon as they're back at Hogwarts she goes to see Harry. Now his physical symptoms of withdrawal have almost been sorted out, he's staying with Ron in Ron's new quarters, getting himself up to date about the work of the Inner Circle.

By the end of the day the three of them are almost back to their old relationship - except for the fact Hermione chickened out of telling Harry that she and Snape are in a relationship.

oOo

Snape resigned himself to Harry being a frequent visitor to Serpens Tower, along with Ron. To his surprise, Harry never appears in their quarters. Eventually Snape caves in and asked Hermione why not.

"I think he's too embarrassed to face you, after the way he's behaved over the last few months."

"He was being poisoned. In some ways the Pugnatio mimics Imperius. A lesser wizard would have been lost to its influence within a couple of weeks. His power to resist is astonishing," said Snape.

"Have you told him that?"

Snape gave a theatrical groan. "You're expecting me to bond with him?"

"Will you hate it very much?"

 

Snape would have made the obvious reply but for the mixture of hope and anxiety on Hermione's face.

"I expect I'll survive," he said with resignation.

"You're not just doing it for me, are you?"

"No, I'm doing it to become a better person!"

While it was small, her flinch stabbed at him.

"I may have mellowed but miracles take longer," he told her, in the closest he was prepared to come to an apology.

"Accepted," said Hermione promptly, tucking her arm into the crook of his. "You can

bond with Harry later. For now, how about spending a few hours bonding with me instead?"

"You insist on giving me these difficult choices," noted Snape, abandoning his marking without a backward glance.

oOo

The winter term begins with a blizzard and the weather goes downhill from there.

It had the advantage of making an attack from Voldemort unlikely.

oOo

"You'll be spending this weekend with Black, of course," said Snape. "Don't inhale that potion, drink it while it's still steaming. The taste will be even worse otherwise."

"Sirius has been brilliant," said Harry, his affection obvious and unquestioning. There was a pause as he choked down the potion.

"Anything that tastes that disgusting must be doing me good. Sirius has asked me to move in with him and Remus - I mean, Professor Lupin."

"Remus is fine. You don't want to?"

"Of course. But he has Remus now and I don't want to be in the way. Sirius hasn't completely recovered from Azkaban. He gets angry and depressed and he lets me get away with things. I think he's afraid that I might not want to be with him if he's too strict," said Harry, with a dispassionate shrewdness that showed he was finally growing up.

When Snape said nothing, Harry gave him a look of apprehension.

"You did know about Sirius and Remus?"

"What? Of course."

"Is it a problem?" Harry tried to interpret Snape's expression.

"Really, Potter. Do I look like a Muggle? Incidently, I've put you down for NEWTS potions. You're a term  behind. Lippy will bring you the books you need. Get to work. I'll expect your first essay on Friday. Clear?"

And it was all so blessedly normal that Harry smiled again. "Clear. Thanks."

"Don't thank me until you've seen the amount of work awaiting you," Snape advised him.

oOo

Snape tracked Harry down in Ron's quarters one evening.

Ron didn't even need a hint to make his excuses and leave.

"Professor Snape." Harry got to his feet. His slight frame was already returning to more familiar proportions, although he was taller than Snape remembered. The acne had cleared up and Harry no long thrummed with that dangerous level of power. Best of all, he smelt of gooseberries again.

"Potter? Why aren't you back in class? You can't hide away forever. Your friends are anxious - and they can't visit you here."

Harry made an oddly helpless gesture. "I don't... Apart from apologising to everyone, at least twice, I don't know how to be around them," he admitted, because it was something he couldn't even tell Ron or Hermione. "They've all been getting on with their lives since last July. All the things that have happened - " he cast an unconscious glance at Snape's forearm "while I feel like I've been stuck in amber. I don't even seem to have been to many lessons."

"Put it down to the effects of the potion. The panic attacks and feelings of depression have already eased. In another week or so they'll disappear completely. Apart from general discourtesy to those deserving of your respect, like Professor McGonagall, you didn't do anything outrageous - which is a wonder in itself. How you managed to resist the Pugnatio for so long is a mystery."

NOTE - Snape questions Harry about his symptoms etc

Harry stared into the fire as he tried to order his thoughts.

"It was a bit like when Mad-Eye Moody was teaching us about the Unforgiveables. With the Imperius it was as if there was this little voice in the back of my brain saying 'No, I don't think so'. The Imperius was trying to make me do something, only the voice was really me." He gave Snape a hopeful look.

"I understand," said Snape, his intent gaze never leaving Harry. "How did the Pugnatio Potion differ?"

"I seemed to hate everyone. I dreamt about killing people. Even people I like - like Professor McGonagall. Then there was you." Harry took a steadying breath. "I've been a shit to you for months, and I'm sorry for it. It was just easier to keep hating you rather than think about having to kill Voldemort. Everyone else in my year has so many plans for what they want to do when they leave school. All I have is Voldemort. I mean, I know it's my duty - "

"Nonsense," said Snape briskly. "You can bugger off and leave us to it any time you like." His deliberately informal speech did the trick.

Harry blinked. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" asked Snape with interest.

"Because..." After a few moments Harry gave his first genuine smile for months. "I don't know why that helps, but it does. It never occurred to me that I had a choice."

"That's because you're a depressingly virtuous Gryffindor."

"So what's your excuse?" asked Harry daringly.

It surprised a snort of sardonic amusement from the man he had hated for so long.

NOTE:

Snape visits Harry every day, using the explanation that he needs as many details about  symptoms of the Pugnatio Potion that Harry can provide.

It's some time before Harry appreciates that Snape's been debriefing him.

oOo

"Potter, I should like to take you to see that young unicorn again," said Snape, one morning, when he found enough free time to give Harry some one-to-one Potions tutoring.

Harry tensed, his cheeks pink, his eyes furious. "That's private," he said tightly.

"Uh, not while you're the saviour of the wizarding world it isn't. I have no prurient interest in the course of your relationship with Miss Bulstrode but magic places a huge emphasis on 'virginity'. What it doesn't always do is specify quite what activities..." To Snape's private relief, Potter took his point.

"Oh. Um. Right. Well, I suppose I might still qualify," said Harry, scarlet by now.

Snape flicked his cuffs. "That would undoubtedly be helpful. No one, particularly your godfather, is eager to discuss this matter with you but... The wording in magic spells often regards 'virginity' solely as a lack of coitus. Will you come to see the unicorn?"

"Now?"

"Even Hagrid is busy. No one else will know." Snape knew he was molly-coddling the boy but in the circumstances...

Harry trailed after him, aiming for nonchalance while looking just as embarrassed as he felt.

NOTE: Unicorn just as unwilling but just as unable to resist. Snape rescues it, then walks back to Hogwarts with Harry.

"While I have every confidence that you and Miss Bulstrode are forming a sound basis for a relationship, I would just remind you that Voldemort has been imbibing unicorn blood for the last six years. And apart from Voldemort, you are the most powerful magician I have ever met," added Snape with deliberation, trusting he wouldn't need to spell it out any further.

Harry had been studying the ground, his shoulders defensively hunched but he looked up at that. "You think that, when it comes to the showdown, I might be able to summon Voldemort to me?" He sounded intrigued, if sceptical.

"I should like to present that to the members of the Inner Circle as a possibility."

"Do it today," said Harry. "If it's true, I'll do my best. If not..."

"Duly noted. What will you tell Miss Bulstrode?"

Harry exhaled. "Ah."

"If I might suggest..."

Harry gave him a sharp look, then relaxed. "I thought you'd be enjoying this more."

"So did I," admitted Snape. "But some things are too important. Why not let it be known that you're under wizard oath until your eighteenth birthday. The coming of age of a wizard is also a time when they come into their full wizarding powers. Voldemort is unlikely to wait that long."

Harry nodded. "I thought as much."

NOTE:

The Inner Circle gathered that evening in Serpens Tower.

Harry's struck by how welcoming and cosy the place was. Not at all what you'd expect of somewhere Snape lived.

Snape briefly set out the facts.

"...Voldemort certainly can't be considered fully human, or wholly wizard. Not after the amount of unicorn blood that's been sustaining him. It seems reasonable to suppose that Harry might - with a strong enough Summoning Charm - be able to call Voldemort to him."

"And the psychological advantage that would give Harry," interrupted Hermione excitedly.

"Anyone know any good Summoning Charms?" asked Ron, who was long past the stage of wanting to snigger about or feel awkward discussing the intimate details of Harry's love life.

"One or two," said Flitwick, bouncing excitedly on his chair. "But I feel sure that with a little research and experimentation..."

"March Flitwick, you be careful," commanded his wife.

"My dear, you know - "

"I know exactly what happens when you become more interested in the quest than your own safety. I have a long memory. And you aren't as young as you were."

"Pish," dismissed Flitwick. "I shall have a number of people to help with the research. Hermione, Sirius, Severus..."

"Of course, " said Snape. "But you _will not_ experiment on Hermione." While his expression was bland, there was naked warning in his voice.

"Oh, Severus," said Hermione, smiling at him.

Harry's head turned as he studied them with dawning recognition.

oOo

　

　

"What are you thinking about?" asked Snape, as he wandered out of his bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel. While he hated to admit it, those curtains Hermione had ordered meant the temperature in their bedroom had improved immensely.

In no mood to be humoured, Hermione studied his near naked body. "You and me. Having sex," she said.

He gave a visible twitch.

"You know I have a four hour NEWTs class in ten minutes and I still have to dress." His voice sounded odd even to his own ears.

"No?" she marvelled.  She leant in, her breasts brushing his chest as she kissed him, long and slow. Then she was gone.

Snape exhaled. It was his own fault. He'd believed her when she'd told him to tell her whether than new dress suited her.

Well, he couldn't teach in this state. He took his wand, gritted his teeth, and spoke the Deflating Charm, taking care to be precise about his intention.

He consoled himself with the thought that tonight it would be his pleasure to take his revenge in full.

　

　

Strolling around the dungeon as he checked on the progress of everyone's potion, Snape paused at Neville's side with some resignation.

"I congratulate you, Mr Longbottom. "One hour and forty minutes into the lesson and you've yet to blow up anything. You might care to check your cauldron. It appears to be smoking."

By the end of the second hour, potions having been made with varying degrees of success, Snape had the entire class engaged in a debate about the ethical use of certain potions, to the point where Seamus not only contradicted him, but was able to produce the reference to back up his argument.

"Well done, Mr Finnegan," said Snape.

"This is what you meant when you said this year would be different?"

Snape leant back in his chair, steepling his long fingers. "Lumos."

Sensing his pleasure, the class stared at him.

"I never realised you've been trying to get us to think," exclaimed Padma.

"And just when it was going so well," sighed Snape. "You thought the purpose of an education is what exactly? No, don't tell me. An essay. From all of you. Three feet. By Friday. Oh, and try to make a habit of thinking from now on."

　

　

A spare quill stuck in her hair, Hermione looked up from the paper she was writing to give Snape an absent-minded kiss. "How did your day go?"

"I've been beastly to Mr Longbottom, and had the dubious pleasure of watching the class finally realise they're supposed to think for themselves, rather than regurgitating facts. Padma Patil and Dean have both come on tremendously. And I asked Seamus to take S Level Potions."

"How did he take the news?"

"Surprisingly well, once he realised I was serious. He might be a late bloomer, but he has real potential, if he can resist the temptation to play to his classmates."

Only then did Snape take his first real look at his library, and the books littering every surface. "Searching for something?"

"Inspiration. I've got this hellish paper to write and March Flitwick's being a total bastard about giving me an extension. He always seemed so sweet."

Snape just grinned at her.

"Stop smirking. I'm going to be working most of the night."

That wiped the smile from Snape's face. "Would you like me to have a word with March?"

"To explain that you and I were planning to have sex?"

"Point taken. I'll leave you to it."

"No. I'll tell March that you come first," said Hermione with decision.

While he already suspected as much, Snape wasn't about to argue. Equally, he wasn't surprised two hours later, to hear Hermione sneak out of bed and back to the library. He'd give her another hour before he went and found the volumes she needed.

oOo

Snape was in his classroom, preparing for his next NEWTS class when Dumbledore came in.

"It's time, Severus," he said firmly.

"No."

"Severus, we have this argument every year and every year I prevail and you lose. Just for once could you give in gracefully. You know it needs to be done as well as I do."

Snape muttered something that an optimist might have taken for assent.

"Well done," said Dumbledore. "I'll come back done just after eleven."

"Checking up on me?"

"Of course. It will go splendidly. You'll see." Dumbledore patted him on the arm and continued on his way.

　

　

Snape waited until everyone was seated. "Now you've made yourselves comfortable, who noticed anything different about this classroom as you came in?"  Chairs scraped, fabric rustling as everyone looked around.

Snape gave a theatrical sigh.  "And to think you'll be released onto an unsuspecting world in July.  For your information, all the protective wards in this room have been removed.  Which means that any errors you make in brewing could result in injury or death."

He made no attempt to quell the ensuing hubbub.

Seamus prevailed. "You mean you've been protecting us all this time?" he said, outraged.

"I know, I spoil you.  But the headmaster has old-fashioned ideas about safeguarding our pupils, so what could I do.  It's depressing that it never seemed to occur to the brightest of you to wonder why for the majority of the time you were wholly unaffected by poisonous fumes, sabotaged potions, ineptly brewed potions - or Longbottom, of course.  The minor accidents I permitted to occur were those which made a point without causing lasting damage.  From now on you ward yourselves and you take responsibility for the lives of those around you.  Then we'll discover how much you've really learnt in the last six years."

"But Longbottom - " began Blaise.  He wasn't the only one looking nervous.

"Will need to be careful.  It will have the merit of novelty."

Neville looked as if he was going to be sick, and those around him didn't look much better.

Less sanguine than he appeared, Snape unmasked the blackboard, where the potion was already written up. 

"You will notice that the list of ingredients is incomplete, and that the brewing instructions have been omitted.  You have exactly two hours to complete the potion without killing yourselves or each other.  Kindly leave the classroom in the state in which you found it."

"You're not staying?" asked Pansy, looking betrayed.

"You won't have me hovering over your shoulder when you leave Hogwarts.  And the only protection you'll have will be whatever charms and wards you provide.  Any questions?  No.  Good.  I'll be back in two and a half hours."

"But the lesson will be over by then," said Dean, who never seemed to learn.

Snape eyed him with interest.  "Thank you for the reminder, Mr Thomas.  Which means you all have a free double period in which we can discuss your success - or otherwise.  Or we can compose eulogies for those of you who failed to take due care, of course."

"You're not going to watch?"  said Blaise, looking worriedly back at Neville.

"No."  Snape knew himself well enough to know he wouldn't be able to stand back and watch disaster happen.  "You now have one hundred and seventy six minutes..."

　

　

Pacing up and down the corridor outside the classroom, Snape gave Dumbledore a look of hatred.  "This is the most ridiculous idea you've ever had," he hissed. "It's bad enough at the best of times, but with Potter and Neville..."

"It is perhaps a little risky," allowed Dumbledore, infected by Snape's apprehension despite himself.

"And Voldemort might be called ambitious, if you like understatement."  Snape's head whipped round when he heard a sharp crack from inside the potions room, followed by raised voices.

Only Dumbledore's grip on his arm stopped him from going inside.

"Albus..."

"Just wait," said Dumbledore.  "There.  Hear that, Neville is sorting it out."

"That's because he's probably responsible for whatever the problem is," growled Snape.

NOTE:

But Neville wasn't.  In fact, his potion was one of the best.  Turns out Snape's over-protective wards in the Potions classroom muted Neville's magic to the point where it barely worked, undermining his confidence.  Combination made him near-lethal in Potions.

Snape looked as if he had just found half a maggot in the apple he was eating. "It seems I owe you an apology," he said to Neville.

While Neville was still several inches shorter than Snape he was considerably broader and thick with muscle.

He hits Snape once.  Not with magic, but with his fist.  Breaks Snape's nose.

　

　

"Typical Gryffindor," grumbled Snape, once the headmaster had applied the necessary first aid charm. "If they can't shaft you one way, they'll find another." To anyone who knew him, his embarrassment was obvious.

"Well, come on, say it," he invited Dumbledore. "You're always complaining that I'm controlling and over-protective."

Neville was still staring at the man who had made his life a misery, slowly absorbing the fact that the class which had given him nightmares in his first two years, had been one in which he'd had no chance of success.

"You mean all the times I messed up were your fault?"

"Yes," said Snape shortly. "It appears I owe you an apology, Mr Longbottom."

"Let's hear it then," said Neville, who saw no reason to hide the fact he was enjoying himself.

On the point of detonation, it suddenly occurred to Snape that Hermione would enjoy this. He managed a fairly comprehensive apology. The fact it was genuine helped.

oOo

Rather than staying in Gryffindor House, Harry is blissfully happy living with Sirius and Remus.

"I need to ask you something personal and I don't want you to get angry," Harry said to Black, as they sat in front of a roaring fire.

Black braced himself for The Talk.  "You can ask me - us - anything you like," he said, doing his best to sound relaxed and confident.

Remus put down his quill, prepared to enjoy himself.

"Is Professor Snape in love with Hermione?"

"Yes, we've been together for - "  Black caught up with the question.  "Eh?"

"You heard me," said Harry.

"Actually, I didn't," Black admitted.  "I thought you were asking about - "

"You and Remus?  No need," dismissed Harry with cheerful unconcern.

"Prospero save us, you sounded just like Lily then," said Black. "It's not a problem?"

"That you're happy? Of course not."

"I meant about Severus and Hermione," said Black.

"I'm trying not to think about it too much until I get used to the idea. So much has changed while I was...out of things. She's happy. I can tell that much. And he's different too. I haven't said anything to her yet. Wasn't sure how to. Or even if I should," admitted Harry. "I mean, I love Hermione, but I wouldn't let her tell me who to go out with or anything."

"Quite right too," said Lupin. "That reminds me, next term, feel free to invite Miss Bulstrode back here for the day. Sirius has been meaning to ask you. Haven't you?" he added pointedly.

Sirius took one look at Harry's face and perjured himself without a thought. "Of course. She's welcome any time. As for Hermione... It'll be Easter soon. Why don't we go to Hogsmead. Find something you can buy them. As a couple. That would say everything you want to, while avoiding Hermione crying all over you."

"Can we go now?"

"Oh, the energy of youth," groaned Remus, getting to his feet.

NOTE:

Hermione and Snape are sent off for a three day holiday, the day before the Easter break. They go to London and forget about everything but one another.

They return, so that others can have some time off, to find that Hogwarts has been attacked.

I can't remember the ins and outs of the plot but the attack was led by Peter Pettigrew, without Voldemort's knowledge. Peter and Lucius Malfoy have been having a power struggle. Because Peter was one of the Marauders, he knows all Hogwarts' secrets. Entry was via a stairway up through a seven-lock chest so vast that it hadn't been opened in living memory.

But there were comparatively few people at Hogwarts over Easter; fortunately those who remained were amongst the most skilled at combat. Even so, their casualties were high. Hagrid, Trelawney and Crabbe were killed, Pomfrey seriously injured. Because no hex was used to gain entry, Hogwarts' protective wards didn't work.

Pettigrew was killed, as were seventeen of the twenty Death Eaters who accompanied him. Dumbledore calls in Minister and Aurors to stand witness to fact Pettigrew never died and was working for Voldemort. In ensuing scandal Fudge resigns as Minister. Neville's grandmother appointed new minister. And there's no more nonsense about denying existence of Voldemort.

Dumbledore successfully petitions for an unequivocal pardon for Black and restoration of all his property/funds. Black continues to work at Hogwarts as Quinapalus Pinchbeck.

Black, as himself, buys a house in Hogsmead for Remus and Harry.

Harry, Ron and Hermione devastated by Hagrid's death.

　

　

"Hagrid is - was," Ron corrected himself, before he stopped dead again. "Who's going to look after that bloody dog of his?"

"Fang will live with Remus, Harry and myself," said Black. He sounded angry as  he wiped his face with the heel of his hand.

"Charlie Weasley has agreed to become Professor for the Care of Magical Creatures. Ron will be Keeper of the Keys," said Dumbledore.

And for a moment they all hated him for his practicality.

Trelawney died a hero, fighting to save the children, Crabbe at her side.

"So much for Sybill's prediction," sniffed McGonagall, but her eyes were red.

"Oh, there's plenty of time for her to have got that right," said Hooch. "Poppy will be well enough to leave St. Mungo's on Tuesday, if there's someone to look after her. "I said I would stay in her quarters. But we need a mediwitch until she's fit enough to get back to work."

"Molly has a certain skill," began Dumbledore."

"For cuts and bruises," cut in Molly. "Albus, I couldn't possibly take over from Poppy!"

Snape finds a stand-in for Poppy by blackmailing a former pupil - or that's what he tells Dumbledore. The truth was rather more pedestrian.

NOTE: Chapter 33 will be very short. The section has been kept separate so people can avoid it if they feel the subject matter of suicide might be triggery for them.

　

　


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section has been given a new chapter so people can avoid it if they feel the subject matter of suicide and depression might be triggery for them.
> 
> 　

THIRTY THREE

Snape goes to Diagon Alley to stock up on Potions for medicine because Poppy still out of commission. Despite the fact it's nearly Easter the weather is freezing and he calls in at the Leaky Cauldron for a warm drink. Sees Percy Weasley sitting in the corner. Something about Percy's look worries Snape enough for him to go back to the Leaky Cauldron when he'd just apparated to outside Hogwarts' gates.

Percy has ordered a bath in his room and is prepared to slit his wrists.

Like Snape, so long ago, he thought he could join the Death Eaters and bring down Voldemort, earning himself glory in the process. He's tired of being known as the pompous Weasley. Instead, he found himself trapped, forced to obey Voldemort's summons because of the Dark Mark he wears. He's been forced to witness more things than he can bear.

Snape greats the news prosaically. "Killing yourself isn't the answer. Particularly not when I've yet to meet anyone less a natural Death Eater. We can get rid of the Dark Mark."

Snape explains about the power of amplified phoenix song to melt the Dark Mark away if it doesn't reflect the true heart of the one wearing it.

"No one but Voldemort would be stupid enough to believe you';re Death Eater material. Come back to Hogwarts with me. Let Fawkes sing for you. Free yourself of Voldemort. Then work with us to defeat him."

With resignation Snape watched Percy begin to weep in an unpractised kind of way out of sheer relief.

But Percy won't go back with him, becomes quite hysterical. Feels too unworthy.

"The decision must be yours. No one can force you to live. But you must hate your parents very much if you still want to kill yourself when there is an alternative that restores your honour. I concede that living will be a great deal harder, particularly for the first year or so. But you're used to hard work. And we need all the help we can. Your youngest siblings need your support. I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Snape leaves.

　

The Weasleys find out that he left a suicidal Percy alone.

Molly storms in to see Snape, who's got Dumbledore with him.

Molly slaps Snape across the face for not forcing Percy to go with him. To live.

The mark of her hand flaming on his face, Snape was still as a rock. "I _will not_ compel anyone to live. The decision must be Percy's. Had I bound him by a wizard's oath, or worse, Imperius, Percy would just be exchanging one servitude for another!"

"What would you know about it!" demanded Molly, shaking. The twins were sleeping bad and sleep deprivation was taking its toll of her.

 

"Because nineteen years ago James Potter didn't give me a choice in similar circumstances," said Snape flatly. "He dragged me back from the very brink and forced that oath on me with Imperius. He was killed four days later. And I was bound to a life I found unsupportable.

"'Death is not the worst evil but rather when we wish to die and cannot.'"

"You can't believe that," protested Molly. "Not now!"

"Not now," he agreed, this the last conversation he had ever wanted to have. "But then... Because of the Imperio James inflicted on me, at a time when I was too weak to defend myself from it, I was forced to live. Was forced to return to Voldemort. I had snapped my wand, climbed in to a hot bath a slit my wrists when James burst in."

Molly stared at him, her eyes wet. "Percy said you saved him."

"Percy over-dramatises. He's here?" said Snape.

"Sleeping in our quarters. Arthur's with him. No one else knows."

"Keep it that way. I'll have a word with Fawkes," said Dumbledore. "By the time Percy awakes, the mark will be gone."

Molly still stared at Snape, then gently touched his arm in silent apology. "Does Harry know? What James did?"

If he told Potter what his sanctimonious prig of a father had done... The temptation to revenge himself on James was as fresh and acute as it had ever been. Revenge for the humiliation, the rapes, the terror and pain. Years and years of impotent despair, with no seeming end.

But Snape knew he wouldn't do it. While Harry was still inclined to be a prig, he already understood more about the dark of the heart than his father had ever done.

"No. Nor should he. Or anyone else," Snape added pointedly. "It's over. For Percy too. Arrogant boys, with our dreams of glory... As soon as the school's abed we'll transport Percy out to the spot and Fawkes will sing for him.

"I owe Fawkes my new wand," Snape added. "He donated a tail feather for it."

NOTE

Percy's Dark Mark vanishes in the same way Snape's had. But he's in a fragile emotional state, having seen to much. Snape's busy brewing potions to help him, too.


	34. Chapter 34

THIRTY FOUR

NOTE:

Snape stops Neville in the corridor, very suspicious, because Neville smells exactly like the corridors of the underground shelter Voldemort used.

The smell is only that of gillyweed, which Neville has been helping Sprout to dry. Supplies were running so low that they willed a vast drying shed with it, hence the smell. It's the reason Snape didn't recognize it as gillyweed because he's never smelt it in that quantity before. Obvious that Voldemort was also drying and storing vast quantities of gillyweed.

Can only mean he intends to attack Hogwarts from underneath - up from the bottom of the lake. Which would also make sense of the piece of doggerel Trelawney had quoted while she was in a trance.

The lake is fed by a complicated system of springs. Dumbledore and the others do their best to ward that, but can't be certain it's taken. Dumbledore warns the Merpeople and the giant squid, of the danger but they refuse to leave their home. They have their own defenses against unwanted intruders.

While communicating with the Merpeople Dumbledore learns that Argus Filch returned to Hogwarts early to check on something he had read. Something about a riddle.

"Three guesses who that must be about," said Hooch.

"But Argus wasn't a great reader. Not like his wife Majolica.  And least of all of wizarding books, which can be cruel to squibs."

"Which isn't to say he didn't read them," said Lupin. "I've deactivated more than one for him."

"Can you remember which?" asked Hermione eagerly.

After a search of the library and Madam Pince's records, they find evidence that before Majolica Filch had been transfigured she had told her husband that she thought Tom Riddle might have been a hemophiliac - a condition unknown in pure-blood wizards.

They check the school records but there are none for Tom Riddle.

"I would have been surprised if there had been," said Dumbledore.

"If Voldemort has - had - hemophilia, it explains why he's been so eager to change himself over and over again. Unless he has access to Muggle medicine, he could bleed to death," said Hermione.

"Not with the amount of unicorn blood he has sloshing around inside him," said Black.

"Unicorn blood is thick and dense. Almost like - "

"Quicksilver," said Hermione, interrupting a still frail looking Madam Pomfrey. "And Rakozsi, who we know has been working for Voldemort, wrote to congratulate Severus on his work in thinning the blood. Rakozsi, who was responsible for brewing the Pugnatio Potion."

"Don't belabour the point," snapped Snape, before he sighed. "Medical advances should always be freely available to anyone. Or so I believed."

"And it does you credit," said Dumbledore. Wolfsbane alone could have earned you a fortune. Instead, you've made the process freely available."

"It just unfortunate that it requires the skill of a potion master to brew it."

oOo

At Easter, when the majority of the children were home with their parents and the exhausted members of the Inner Circle were preparing for the final battle with Voldemort , Lucius Malfoy led a fresh attack, as predicted, from under the lake with an explosion which would have split Hogwarts wide open but for all the extra wards they had put in place.

 

They never knew for certain how many Death Eaters had been part of the attack, only that few escaped the fury of the Merpeople who had survived to take revenge for the murder of their people and the death of the giant squid. The entire Malfoy family died that day. But Voldemort had not been with them and it wasn't clear if he had even authorised the attack.

But when it was all over, the Merpeople left the lake - and Hogwarts - and were never seen again, taking refuge in the deepest, most deserted places, far from the affairs of wizards.

McGonagall was killed defending children caught in the crossfire. Flitwick serious injured, his courage on that day such that, like Sprout and McGonagall, he became a chocolate frog card.

The only child to die was Tiberius Foley, a fourth year Ravenclaw.

McGonagall's death left Snape bitter and angry. He had never admitted, even to himself, what Minerva McGonagall meant to him. It was only when he realised Hermione was grieving for the loss of her former head of house that he was able to speak of it to her, both giving and receiving comfort.

When the Inner Circle next met, the gap where Minerva McGonagall should have been was a stark reminder of the enormity of their loss.

"I know it's the last thing that anyone wants to think about, but with regard to the new head of Gryffindor," said Dumbledore. He looked old and frail.

Lupin looked up, a mixture of hope and expectation on his face.

"I'm sorry, Remus," said Dumbledore, "but it's impossible to appoint a werewolf as head of house. Prejudice aside - and there is still a great deal of that - the children would be vulnerable for three days a month, every month Three days which anyone with a lunar calender can predict.

Lupin's mouth tightened, spots of colour high on each cheekbone. But he said nothing. Over the years he had learnt not to focus on his losses - that way lay madness. The kind which lasted long after the moon had waned.

"Albus," began Black.

"The subject isn't open to debate. Remus is doing fine work but his temperament is unsuited to - We need a head of Gryffindor capable and willing to defend their house to the last. Not least in standing up to Severus," Dumbledore added, with a heavy-handed attempt at humour to soften the blow.

Black raged unchecked for several minutes, until Sprout leant forward.

"Enough, Sirius! The controversy alone would be a distraction from the work we do. It would play right into Voldemort's hands.

"She's right," said Lupin quietly. "Werewolves can't afford the luxury of drawing attention to themselves."

Before Harry and Ron could both offer their opinions, Dumbledore went on to say, "Charlie, you're young and with little teaching experience, but I have every confidence that you'll make a fine head of Gryffindor. Congratulations on your appointment."

"I'll be gentle with you," Snape promised, offering his hand and an untrustworthy smile.

After shaking it, Charlie gave him the finger, only to look abashed when Dumbledore noticed.

"Your mother has agreed to act as deputy head," Dumbledore added.

Charlie gave a nod of resignation, less than thrilled to be back under the maternal thumb. But he murmured his obedient compliance, a longing for his dragons sweeping over him.

"Bill, as you know, March is still recovering from his injuries. He needs a deputy willing to take the majority of the load from him for the foreseeable future."

"Of course, head master," murmured Bill, because there was no alternative. But he couldn't help wondering how Dumbledore had known that the Sorting Hat had wanted to place him in Ravenclaw, but he had insisted of Gryffindor, like his parents.

They all looked out the window, at the sound of children cheering and laughing, as they celebrated their 'victory'.

"What the hell do they imagine there is to celebrate?" growled Snape.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let the children have their moment. That girl on the left. The bossy one with the ringlets. Is she the girl who flew into Minerva?"

"Buttercup Wean? That's her," said Black, coming over to join them. "She wants to work with dragons."

"Tell me about it," groaned Charlie. "Everywhere I go, there she is, asking questions."

Bill gave an unsympathetic hoot of laughter. "Charlie's got himself an admirer."

"And you're asking for a thumping," said Charlie amiably.

"Boys," said Sprout. "Try to remember you're supposed to be adults."

Snape was still staring blindly out the window. "The stupid bloody woman. All Minerva had to do was - " He stopped as abruptly as if he had been struck by a bludger - or as if the totality of his loss had only just sunk in.

"Be less than herself? At least it was Avada Kevada, and so fast. She never even saw it coming," said Sprout, her voice wobbling only a little. "March and I knew her since she was eleven years old," she added tenderly.

Snape turned to her. "I never knew that."

"No. Minerva was so nervous when you joined the staff. She begged us to say nothing."

"She couldn't have believed I would ever hurt her," protested Snape, aghast.

"You ridiculous boy! Of course she didn't. It's just - " Sprout patted his hand and gave a misty-eyed smile. "She said that reducing you to an eleven year old schoolboy was the only way to keep you humble."

"Humble?" echoed Hooch, but she was smiling at Snape.

"We can be grateful we have so many wonderful memories of Minerva. But now is not the time. Painful as it is, we must be practical. I need a deputy."

There was a chorus of protest.

Dumbledore sighed. "Do you imagine I'm enjoying this? The fact remains, while I have to act as Warden of Hogwarts - a position for which I am unsuited - I have little energy left for many of the other thankless duties. I should add that I've already notified the Ministry of the appointment, and received the approval of Minister Amelia Longbottom. As you know, she's given me a free hand where the running of Hogwarts is concerned."

"But a new deputy," murmured Hooch. "Won't that complicate things?" You can't admit a stranger to the Inner Circle and, of necessity, your deputy will be privy to the secret of guarding Hogwarts." She looked strained and pale, her eyes bloodshot. She had known and loved Minerva McGonagall for most of her life."

"Why would I look outside the Inner Circle?" said Dumbledore. "Severus is the obvious choice."

Staring out the window, it was some time before Snape heard his fate.

When he did, his protest was immediate and heartfelt. "The idea is ridiculous. No one would accept a former Death Eater in the role. Nor should they."

"First, they must prove you were a Death Eater. Second, we can all bear witness to the work you've done over the years to bring about Voldemort's downfall. Third, and less flattering, who else is there? I need someone with excellent administrative skills, the ability to face down everyone from a recalcitrant first year to the Ministry of Magic or Mad-Eye Moody. If you defend Hogwarts half as well as you've defended your Slytherins all these years we shall be doing well. And think what the honour will mean to your house at a time when Slytherins are being blamed for Voldemort's very existence."

His back to the wall, as if at bay, Snape stared at Dumbledore. "When I was twenty I would have given anything for this honour. Now..."

"Now you'll do your duty as you always do," said Sprout briskly, before she kissed him on the cheek. "Minerva would be tickled pink."

One by one the members of the Inner Circle congratulated him without any trace of doubt, even from Remus Lupin, and throughout it all Snape stood pale and still, holding Hermione's hand in a grip so tight that she was losing sensation in her fingers.

When Black stepped up, Hermione's eyes narrowed in warning, her free hand twitching towards her wand.

He noticed, of course. They were all battle ready.

"Relax," Black told her gently. "Now, more than ever, we need unity. Severus might be a bastard, but he's our bastard, and I'd rather have him with us than against us.

"Headmaster, you left off a fifth reason. Severus's appointment as your deputy will be like salt on a wound to Voldemort."

oOo

As the full weight of his new responsibilities feel on Snape, it dawned on him how little free time he was going to have.

"Then you must delegate more," said Hermione briskly. "Don't look at me like that. The world won't stop spinning. Give Sirius full charge of another year of your classes."

"Certainly not. Besides, Minerva managed. She made it look so effortless."

"There's a lot less marking in Transfiguration," Hermione pointed out. She, along with Bill, Remus and Sirius were currently teaching Transfiguration between them. "Could Percy help out with a class?"

"No, the children would eat him alive. He needs peace and quiet and work. Which reminds me. There's too much noise for him at Molly and Arthur's. Would you mind if he moved into the suite of rooms on the ground floor of Serpens Tower. Lippy has volunteered to look after him."

Hermione minded rather a lot, but it seemed churlish to say so if Severus was prepared to make the offer.

"I know it isn't ideal," said Snape, as if she had spoken. "But...I had help when I needed it most. So should he."

"You're such a Gryffindor," mocked Hermione lovingly, only to give shriek as he lunged after her.

They ended up in a laughing tangle, their grief set aside.

oOo

Ron and Dumbledore escorting Flitwick, who's still weaker than he's willing to admit, to Serpens Tower, behind them came Bill and Charlie Weasley. Molly was diverting all her energy towards her family these days.

Not that Percy ever asked for anything.

"All that molly-coddling's doing him no good at all," said Black with decision, but out of earshot of Molly. "Percy needs to kept busy. Stop him brooding about how unworthy he's feeling. Bill, was Percy any good at Potions?"

"Oh, no," said Snape instantly.

"Please, Severus," said Molly quietly. "I'll beg, if I need to."

Which was the end of that discussion. Percy Weasley became Snape's assistant. He was kept well away from the chaos of the classroom, working in Snape's lab in Serpens Tower. Hermione was careful not to intrude, knowing she could reply on Lippy to spoil Percy. Even Crookshanks was patient with him.  Ron and Harry spent a lot of time, just sitting watching Percy work. The first milestone came when Percy scolded them for not cutting the sage finely enough.

oOo

Bored and in disgrace with her Slytherin classmates for her instance on being friends with whoever she liked, irrespective of their house, Buttercup Wean slipped out of the common room one Sunday afternoon.

Unable to locate Professor Weasley - Charlie, of course, because who would be interested in Bill when there was a dragon whisperer around - Buttercup was in the mood for mischief. She decided to practice her flying skills.

Because it was pouring with rain, she'd have to run the risk of the illegal occupation of flying in the corridors and decided that the ones around the library should be deserted on a Sunday afternoon.

Her face alight with joy at the freedom flight gave, Buttercup made a tricky corner at speed, misjudged the angle, shrieked and crashed into one of the suits of armour, which fell off its stand and onto the headmaster. Knocked to the ground, Dumbledore hit his head and lost consciousness.

The very stones of Hogwarts seemed to shudder.

Buttercup cried out for help at the top of her voice but a surprising number of staff seemed to be in the vicinity within seconds.

At a word from Snape Black bundled Buttercup off for a lecture she wouldn't forget in a hurry. Fortunately her brook had been damaged in the crash, so illegal flying wouldn't be a problem for a while.

Everyone frozen as their surroundings seemed to ripple. There was a slow, deep tearing sound, as if something vast was being uprooted.

"Whoa!" cried Ron, up to his elbows in stone, a dreamy, absent expression on his face, as if he was listening to someone - or thing - that only he could hear.  He abruptly shot out of the stone to fall beside Dumbledore. Flat on his back, the most peculiar expression crossed his face.

"Oh, wow," he whispered with near reverence. "Unbelievable."

And then Ron seemed to be swimming in stone, moving from floor, to wall to ceiling.

"Ronald Weasley, you stop that this minute!" cried his frightened mother.

"'S OK, mum," he called. "In fact it's fantastic!"

Slumped on a wooden seat, Snape was staring at Ron, all concern for the unconscious Dumbledore forgotten. He seemed unaware that there were tears on his cheeks.

Bill grabbed Snape's arm. "Severus, what's wrong? Is Albus - ?"

"Albus is fine," soothed Pomfrey, just as Dumbledore recovered consciousness with a visible jolt.

"Hogwarts?" he gasped, a hand to his forehead. "Hogwarts is gone."

"That's because it's found its true Warden," said Snape, gesturing to Ron, who was half in, half out of a wall of stone. "They're getting acquainted."

"Oh, my word!" said Dumbledore, his smile as brilliant as the sun.  Already there was a difference to him. Without the burden of trying to communicate with Hogwarts, he looked more focused and great deal more alert than any of those present could ever remember seeing him.

"Headmaster?" said Hooch anxiously.

"My link with Hogwarts has gone. It's no longer needed." Dumbledore's gaze was on the oblivious Ron, whose lips were moving soundlessly.

"We have our Warden," Dumbledore said. "After all this time, Hogwarts has a true Warden. Which will unlock secrets we could only dream of."

There were cheers and tears and hugs, while Molly, Bill and Charlie stared at Ron with so much pride that it made Hermione's heart ache.

"Yes, but it is safe?" checked Molly anxiously.

"Probably not," said Snape dryly, "but the Weasleys have always had a liking for dangerous beasts. And Ron looks as if he's just been given the best present in the world."

"He does rather, doesn't he," said Hermione shakily. "But I do wish he'd stop swimming in stone."

 

"Me too, dear," said Molly. "But the men..." She gave a helpless gesture. "Bless him, he does look happy.

Hermione pressed up against Snape's shoulder, where he still sat, in need of reassurance. He tucked his arms around her, hiding his face against her breast. "At last we have a real chance of victory," he murmured. "With a real Warden we have Albus at full power. And who knows what Hogwarts is capable of."

There was a just discernible rumbling noise, as if somewhere far, far away, a vast cat was purring.

Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around him, understanding only that this was the first piece of really good news for what seemed like forever. And Ron was Warden!

"Ron," said Molly, catching hold of his leg before it could disappear into stone, "are you sure you're all right?"

"Don't fuss, mum. This is bloody brilliant. I've never had battlements and foundations before. Never... D'you realise what Hogwarts is capable of?"

"No," said Dumbledore patiently, "we don't." A trace of blood at his hairline, he shrugged off Pomfrey's concern, walked over to Ron and bowed to him.

"Warden."

"Headmaster," returned Ron, before he blinked, as if only now giving all his attention to their conversation. "I'm not dreaming this, am I?" he asked anxiously, before he laughed. "No, this is real as real can be."

Looking years younger, Dumbledore laughed with him. "Then, with your permission, Warden, I'm going to do something I've been longing to do for more decades than I care to remember."

In front of their eyes, Dumbledore transfigured into a bumble bee.

Madam Hooch hastily opened a window for him and as they watched the bee headed straight for the nearest buttercup, before heading for the nearest meadow.

NOTE:

Dumbledore's injury caused unconsciousness, breaking his link with Hogwarts. With that gone, Hogwarts was free to reach out for its Warden.

Ron had turned 18 only 3 days before - the minimum age for a Warden.

The point of a true Warden is that he and Hogwarts are linked. He has access to all of Hogwarts secrets - including the fact that Hogwarts is sentient. And that the castle was never intended to be fixed forever in one place. In times of danger its capable of translocating - complete with all its occupants - to a place of safely.

[Idea of the moving castle came not from Howl's Moving Castle by Diane Wynne Jones but from a short story by Nicholas Stuart Gray, whose title escapes me till I can check on it]

　

 

Everyone noticed the change in Dumbledore as his full power returned to him. It was impossible to be in his presence and be aware of the power thrumming through him. To Hermione it felt like a fire at which she could warm her hands.

Together with Snape, Dumbledore helped train the seniors for war, sharpening reflexes, honing casting ability.

Ron tried to explain to Harry and Hermione just how fantastic it was to be able to communicate with something so alien, yet which felt so familiar. They gave up trying to understand anything but the fact Ron thought it was the best present anyone could ever be given.

　

"How I wish Minerva had known," said Snape. "She would have been crowing over me in an unbearable fashion for at least five years."

"If you think I'm not going to gloat about little Ronnikins," said Bill. "Bugger, I suppose I'll have to stop called you that now," he said to Ron ruefully.

"Don't be a pillock," said Ron. "I'm still me. Just - " Needing to release his pent up emotions, he did a hand spring, only to disappear through a five foot thick wall.

"I do wish he wouldn't do that," moaned Molly. "It isn't natural."

"Can't argue with that," grinned Charlie. "But I wish I could do it."

"Mad. The Weasleys are all mad," said Snape.

"So you wouldn't give it a try if you could," said Hermione.

Snape looked shifty and changed the subject.

"Now we have a Warden, everything changes. It's time to reel Voldemort in before he gather another army around himself."

"Harry can't defeat Voldemort by himself!" protested Hermione.

"He won't need to," said Ron.  "Now I'm Warden not even Voldemort can threaten Hogwarts itself. No wonder believing Albus was Warden has kept him away. With Hogwarts guarding the pupils, all the staff are freed up.  You can all channel your power into Harry. We been over the plan again and again."

"So Freya and I are just supposed to stand back and look admiring while all this is going on?" said Hermione, her voice tight with emotion.

"Oh, no, my dear," said Dumbledore without a trace of the twinkle which often provoked her so much, and which had been missing since the deaths of Hagrid and Minerva.  She would have given a lot to see it return. "There are few things as dangerous as a quarrel of witches defending their loved ones."

Mollified by his recognition of the obvious, Hermione glanced at Hooch, then had to look away from the raw want on the older woman's face as she stared at Dumbledore, as if they were the only two people in the room.

Albus? thought Hermione with disbelief. Freya was in love with a man at least 120 years older than herself.

She tried hard not to think of Dumbledore naked, while despising herself for her ageism. She wondered if anyone else knew what Freya felt. But it explained Dumbledore's disquiet about her relationship with Severus.  She wondered just how long Freya had loved him. Hooch had given up a place on the national quidditch team at a word from Dumbledore and had, as far as Hermione was aware, resisted the blandishments of Bill Weasley, who was sex on a stick by anyone's standards.

Still, it didn't excuse Albus.

Then she saw the pity in Dumbledore's eyes as he looked at Hooch and realised that Freya's love was unrequited.

NOTE:

Flitwick has modified and strengthened the Containment Charm that was used to protect the Centennial Lily, so that the charm will be capable of holding Voldemort's remains, until they can be disposed of.

Sprout uses Flitwick's advanced Growing Charm for a hybrid of Devil's Snare she has developed. One that can withstand sunshine, but which rots in the rain. Seeded in the fields around Hogwarts, a simple spell activates it to trap anyone unlucky enough to be in its path.

Harry has been practising Summoning Charms on everyone. The first time he managed to summon Dumbledore, even though the headmaster hadn't been expecting it, signalled they were on the right track.

Harry had reached the point where he woke, slept and dreamt summoning charms. While, obviously, he and Snape couldn't have full on duels, those they'd had were spectacular. And he'd summoned a resisting Snape.

At the last meeting of the Inner Circle, they were agreed. Harry would summon Voldemort the following day.

Ron needed no help to move Hogwarts and the children at the last moment.

The fields were seeded.

Harry had chosen the spot, beside Hagrid's hut, in memory of his friend, Dumbledore and the staff at his back to deal with whoever Voldemort brought with him.

Charlie was flying back down with a dragon, and Fawkes was ready to play his part when it was all over.

The following morning it was the most beautiful late Spring day. 

While Harry hadn't managed to eat breakfast, he'd watched Ron eat an obscene amount. Then, followed by the staff, he'd headed for the main door.

His hand on the knocker, Harry paused for a second. "If this doesn't work - "

"It will," interrupted Snape. "Do get on, boy. I've got a backlog of marking to see to."

His irritable tone was so wonderfully familiar that for one blessed moment Harry forgot what awaited him outside and his legs stopped feeling as if they recovering from the Jelly-Legs Jinx.

"Severus," murmured Dumbledore.

"No, he's right," said Black. "Voldemort's done all the damage he's going to. Let's get rid of him so we can get on with rebuilding what he's tried to destroy." He slipped the hand not holding his wand into Lupin's, who smiled and nodded.

"Absolutely," squeaked Flitwick, peering around the container he held.

"When this is over I know a first year Slytherin who is desperate for an encounter with a dragon," said Snape.

"That would be Buttercup Wean," said Harry, half-turning. "It was all right when she was besotted with Charlie, but now she's following me around. She's the bane of my life." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Snape. "That was your doing, wasn't it?"

"You've been the bane of mine. It seemed only fair to return the favour," said Snape. He reached past Harry and turned the handle of the door.

Harry walked out into the sunshine. The warm air was scented with buttercups and daisies.

"There should be storm clouds," he said.

"Nonsense," said Sprout, kissing him on the cheek. "Think what it would do to my seedlings."

"You're all quite mad," said Harry with conviction. Then he smiled, pushed his inclined to slip spectacles further up his nose and headed for Hagrid's hut where Voldemort, who had summoned, was waiting.

The end came so quickly it was almost an anticlimax after the horrors that had gone before it. There weren't that many Death Eaters left, and those who came were no match for the combination of Devil's Snare and Hogwart's staff.

Voldemort disintegrated before Harry completed the spell.

Flitwick's container collected the tainted unicorn blood and everything else that was left of Voldemort - a strange looking skeleton.

The Charlie and his dragon, took Fawkes, holding the container, as far as they were able, before leaving Fawkes to make his final journey as he flew with Voldemort's remains into the sun.

 

　

"I'm going to miss that bird," said Snape that night, when he and Hermione were alone, holding one another as they came to terms with the idea of peace.

"I know," she said, "but he's a phoenix. Who knows what he's capable of."

"Is Potter all right?"

"He and Millicent are spending the night with Sirius and Remus. Except Sirius and Remus are staying with March and Ceres."

"Ah. That's good."

"Why?"

"Because tonight I'd rather like your full attention."

"Isn't that up to you to earn it?" enquired Hermione innocently.


	35. Chapter 35

EPILOGUE

Set approximately one hundred and three years later

　

Neatly avoiding Sybilla Weasley in a corridor crowded with pupils as they emerged from their last lessons of the day, Snape saw a familiar plump figure ahead of him. He stopped so abruptly that a Hufflepuff bumped into him, gave a squeak of dismay, and rebounded into the equally terrifying figure of the Warden.

"Hermione!" Ron picked her up, swung her around, bussed her soundly on the cheek, set her back down and walked through the stone wall to wherever he had been going.

His wand hand itching, Snape crossed the stream of children by the simple expedient of glaring them to a standstill. Finally standing in front of her, he absorbed all the familiar details for so long that the corridor had emptied.

"Minister," he said formally.

"Not as of nine o'clock this morning," said Hermione cheerfully. "Why not just smile and get it over with?"

"And ruin my reputation? You're early."

"Shall I go away again? I bribed Buttercup into giving me her portkey session. I've missed you," she added, with the honesty which still had the power to disconcert him, even after all these years.

Snape drew her behind the shelter of an arras and kissed her soundly. "Good," he said simply.

"You look tired," she noted critically.

"I don't sleep so well when you're away," he said, because it was pointless to deny it after all these years."

"Nor do I. Is there any reason you've stopped kissing me?"

The deep creases fanning out from the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. "103 years and I still haven't managed to teach you the merits of patience." His head bent, just as the high, panicky sounds of a first year seeking him out jolted them apart, even though they were hidden from sight.

"Fucking children," Snape muttered, before he returned to the corridor. "Yes, Miss Longbottom? And I warn you, I'll have truck with nothing less than a full scale disaster..."

　

　

　

　

It was almost midnight before they were free to be alone together again.

"Severus, do you remember when you asked me to marry you?"

Snape peered at Hermione from over the top of his spectacles, his dark eyes narrowing with suspicion.  "I remember you saying no."

"Yes, well, I didn't want you to feel you'd been railroaded into marriage by everyone else's expectations."

"That was very thoughtful of you."

"There's no need to take that sceptical tone with me."

Snape set down his book, took off his spectacles and prepared to be entertained.

Hermione glared at him for all of twenty seconds before she cracked. "There's no chance of you helping me out here," she said, getting even crosser when that faint, crooked smile of his still did strange things to her heart.

"None whatsoever," he assured her.

"Will you marry me?" Hermione blurted out.  If she had hoped to surprise him she was doomed to disappointment.

"I'll have to think about it," he said promptly.

"Really, Severus!  You've had one hundred and three years to think about it."

"I thought you didn't want to railroad me?"

"You are the most infuriating wizard..."

Adept in Hermione-watching, Snape stopped teasing, left his chair and took her hand in his.  "Of course I'll marry you," he said, kissing her ink-stained palm.  "Now, if you like."

Her chin quivered before she steadied it.  "Yes.  Let's.  Right now."

"Would it be in poor taste for me to ask what's the hurry?  After one hundred and three years of unmarried - well, bliss is probably carrying things a bit too far - life why this sudden urgency to legalise things?"

"Oh, no reason," said Hermione airily, her fingers closing around his.

"You saw Harry last week."  Snape went very still.  "You're not...  You're not ill, are you?"  His grip became painfully tight.

"No, of course I'm not," Hermione reassured him.  "Healthy as can be.  Even if I am shaped like a cottage loaf with spectacles."

"Cottage loaf?"  He sank onto a worn but comfortable sofa, the faded red leather flattering his pewter coloured hair.

"It's bread.  Shaped like so."  Hermione's hands moved in two descriptive arcs.

"Ah."  He gave the faintest of smiles.  "Yes, you are," he agreed happily.  "But I'd still like to know what made you propose?  You only had that interview with Magician's Monthly this morning and...  Wait a minute. Wasn't that with Pansy Parkinson-that-was?"

"And on her fifth marriage contract," said Hermione.  "As she took pains to tell me. Twice."

"Ah, all is explained," said Snape.

"I don't know what you mean," said Hermione, unconvincingly.

He cocked his head.  "So Pansy didn't start twitting the just-resigned Minister of Magic about her single state.  I might have known I'd be your last resort," he sighed, with a  faint air of melancholy.

"You're a shocking liar," said Hermione, kissing his chin. "I'm so glad you've never grown a beard," she added inconsequentially.  "Move over and give me a cuddle.  And don't look so hard done by.  That sofa is wide enough for both of us to stretch out if we snuggle."

Snape's lips parted in protest at the word 'snuggle' but he shifted obediently.

"And you know damn well that the only reason I didn't marry you forty seven years ago was because it would have lead to all kinds of gossip if the Minister of Magic had been married to the headmaster of Hogwarts. Not to mention compromising our ability to do our respective jobs."

"I think you just liked to sneak off to your lover whenever you could."

"It had it's moments," Hermione allowed. "You're going to miss Hogwarts."

"Yes," he agreed because it would be pointless to deny it.  "But I believe that Adela Creevy will make a good headmistress."

"When you said we could marry now, how soon is that?"

"Now means now," he said, craning his neck the better to direct his glare.  "I would have thought you would know that after all the marriages you've dragged me to - "

" - that would be one, Harry's.  And you didn't stop complaining the entire time."

" - one would think you would have learnt something about wizarding marriages.  The contract takes approximately two minutes.  No fuss.  No hordes of people you never want to see again offering inane remarks or smutty jokes.  Any witch or wizard can perform the ceremony.  I thought perhaps the Warden?" Snape added.

Hermione wriggled, almost fell off the sofa, was rescued and moved to safer, if bonier ground. 

"Ron will have kittens," she said with glee.  "Oh, do let's.  Now."  She scrambled to her feet, then peered down at herself.  "But I'll have to change.  I've got ink on my - "

"You're filthy," Snape realised.  "But I'll take you, stains and all.  I'm not risking you changing your mind.  We'll spend our wedding night at the House of Mirth."

"You romantic you.  Only you forget, I know you.  Whose lecturing there tonight?"

"I'll call Ron, shall I?" said Snape evasively.

　

　

　

Safely tucked up in their marriage bed, Snape idly toyed with a lock of his wife's bushy grey  hair.  "Do you realise this is the first time either of us have been free from all responsibility?"

Hermione gave a luxurious stretch of well-being and flicked her thumb over his right nipple.  "I know.  Isn't it wonderful?  We're not due in Nepal until October. What shall we do until then?"

"Frivol," said Snape, propping himself up on one elbow for what was intended as a swift kiss.

 

 

 

THE END

 

I can only apologise again to those who feel shortchanged but there's no way I have another 80,000 words of FFI in me, and that's what it would have taken to write it properly.


End file.
